


The Pirate and the Padawan

by Hippediva



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Angst, BDSM, Chan, Drama, M/M, Multi, Other, Tentacles, action-adventure, first-time, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-27
Updated: 2002-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 56,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippediva/pseuds/Hippediva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU story that takes place in a world where Jedi Padawans are courtesan slaves similar to oiran. Imagine that the Jedi world of canon has been taken through the looking glass. Obi-Wan has just turned 16 at the beginning of the story. In his world, this is considered the age of majority.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I

Obi-Wan was exhausted. The past two weeks had been brutal, stretching his endurance to its limits, leaving him scared and bone-tired as he waited in the space transport at Ai Dallia on the planet Remwera, Mid-Rim Territories. His luggage was looming in the small station, dwarfing anything there for pickup but the huge bales of Xerianina waiting for export. He shivered and huddled close into his cloak, aware of the eyes glued to him from the desk.

Obi-Wan had thought his future was assured. He knew that Senator Palpatine had sponsored his education, had groomed and prepared him for his role. He 'd just turned sixteen and had been privately auctioned. The Jedi Temple rules for courtesan padawan slaves were most exacting. He spoke fifteen languages from four quadrants, was an expert in comestibles and intoxicants, knew how to perform in five sectors' realm of pleasure. Of course, he was untouched , as was necessary. From the age of two, when the Finders claimed him, he'd lived in the Temple creche, slowly being moulded and taught everything he should know for this moment.

But at the auction, which was held quietly on holo-vid the night before his Ageday, he'd been purchased by an unknown. He knew that Senators Palpatine and Valorum both wanted him...that several others were in the bidding. The creche-master was proud of the far-flung offers for Obi-Wan and had even patted the boy's red-gold head in approval as he'd been escorted off the holo-vid platform. He had felt so sure and proud, knowing his masters approved of his performance on the vid.

He had shown at least thirty different displays of agility, including his internal and external muscle control. He had abandoned himself to the Force while allowing the droids to use his limbs as the bidders wished, feeling himself turned and twisted, opened and fingered for the pleasure of his suitors. It was a gift he gave them, this exhibition of his body even as he writhed and strained in the grip of his own innocence and fear. The name announced, at the end of the bidding, where his prettiest postures were displayed, was a complete shock: Qui-Gon Jinn, Mid-Rim Territories, Sector Seven. Ghods above, it was nearly Outer Rim! He winced, remembering the whipping he'd received for his obvious look of dismay. The Creche-master had been furious and displayed him in the Hall for four hours before taking him over his knee. It had been a less than triumphant way to announce his purchase and departure.

Later that day, his things were efficiently packed by the droids as he was bathed and perfumed and dressed for his journey. Kal, the Creche-master washed Obi-Wan himself, his hands efficient in the hot, soapy water.

"Just remember your training. Don't ever forget that, Obi."

Obi-Wan had looked at his former master with enormous eyes, worried by the tone and the words.

"Master, how could I forget it?" he whispered.

Kal's hand grabbed his chin and held his face firmly, dark eyes boring into his.

"Never you mind. But remember, you are an export. The Jedi-world incarnate. Teach your new master, but never let him know you are the teacher." His fingers traced the ruddy golden brows, the white eyelids. Obi-Wan was completely unprepared for the sudden blow.

Tears welling despite his best efforts, he ground his teeth together.

"Forgive my incompetence, Master." he whispered by rote.

Another blow left him gasping.

"What? What am I doing wrong? he whimpered.

"Just be ready." was the enigmatic reply.

Obi-Wan gulped, remembering his confusion and dismay at Kal's sudden cruelty.

Packed up with his personal effects in seventeen transport cases, he had been shipped out the next morning. He was scared when the trip was more than forty minutes: he'd never been off Coruscant or out of the city's limits since he could remember. When the transport pilot bade him buckle in for the shift to hyperspace, he'd gone white. Twelve hours later, he was fighting tears. At fourteen hours, they finally landed, and he found himself in a woeful little slum of a station, awaiting pickup by a yet-unknown master. The urge to cry was nearly overwhelming. He was hungry and tired and dirty. He needed a bath and Kal's examination that was the end of his normal day . When the landspeeder and its trailer-form arrived, he was wide-eyed with fear.

Nearly three hours later, he awoke to the hard landing. He struggled to rouse himself, tried to keep track of the luggage. It was a chore, the lackeys were so ridiculously moronic. Not to mention unintelligible. The language was Standard, but so twisted by local dialect that it might as well have been foreign. It took him twenty-minutes to make them understand him at all.

His heart sank lower as a peasant came forward with another landspeeder to claim him.

He had a bad feeling about this.


	2. Chapter 2

II

His first sight of the castle was not helpful. It was grey, huge, looming out of the mist and dampness like a hulking monster. Obi-Wan had ceased to even try to conceal his dismay. He was tired and disheartened, sick of the green, fog-shrouded landscape, his stomach was growling and he had a terrible headache. The peasant who collected him had glared, but not spoken and he had dozed off and on, only to be wakened by too-sharp turns or a bump. He could have sworn they were deliberate from the malicious smile on the peasant's face.

Once inside the Great Hall, he felt his stomach churning. The place was as grey and forbidding inside as it was without. It might have been lovely, several hundred years ago, Obi-Wan thought savagely. Only a lifetime of training kept his back straight and his head up.

"Where are my quarters?"

"Maister noan back yet. Ye'll hafta wait here."

Swallowing his exasperation, he moved closer to the fireplace. It was bitterly cold and his pale silken clothing was certainly not suited to such a wet, chilly environment. The flagstones around him were stained with grease and ghods-knew-what else, sweet strewing herbs rotting in the corners. Force above they're savages! There were tapestries hanging on the stone walls, very ancient, Alderian, he thought. Once they must have been lovely. Now they were rags, their colours dimmed with grime and smoke. The only light poured in through slitted windows high in the dome and the darkness was oppressive. Obi-Wan huddled close to the enormous fire, examining his hands . Lord, two nails broken and the dirt beneath the rest!! Kal would have my head. He rubbed them together, watching the fire with bright eyes.

An eternity later, a small girl in a dirty brown shift brought a wooden tray to the enormous table behind him.

"Sumpthin' t'drink fer yew." She grinned at him, bobbed a curtsy an d disappeared behind the curtained doorway, giggling. He could hear more laughing as she talked rapidly in her unintelligible dialect.

He stalked over to the table, his eyes narrowing with anger. He was worth a galactic fortune, a prize to be cherished and celebrated. But his new Master's servants seemed to think he was funny. He heard more raucous laughter, and although he couldn't understand the words, knew the intonation for a dirty jest. His eyes stung. It was criminal he should be treated in such a fashion.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and looked down at the leather mug on a rough wooden paten. Experimentally, he hefted it and sniffed. Beer. He set the nasty brew down with the expression of a martyr. Bad enough to have been subjected to a day's worth of horrendous travel, but to be laughed at by kitchen help and offered nothing more than peasant fare was too much. He sniffed long and hard, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. Force sake, he didn't even have a handkerchief. He would have given anything to be back in Coruscant. Well, wishing wasn't getting and he was terribly thirsty.

"Hello?" his voice was steady, although his hands were shaking.

The little girl stuck her head through the curtain, followed by a rangy youth's.

"Wot?"

Obi-Wan straightened his spine, his eyes icy. "I will not be kept waiting in the hall like a merchant." His lips curled with disdain. "I insist on being shown to my quarters now. "

He glanced down at the mug with utter contempt. "And please get me some water."

Two pairs of eyes regarded him with amusement.

"Bugger off, fuckboy." that from the youth.

Anger surged through Obi-Wan and he used a little Force-hold to push the boy against the wall.

"Care to repeat that?"

The lad's eyes were wider now, a grudging respect dawning in their dark depths.

"Damn ye, Force-user! Maister'll hate that i'ye." The dark eyes grew taunting again. "Mebbe tha's wot he wanted ye fer. But I doubt tha'!"

Obi-Wan released him with a sigh. "Please. Water." He tried to read the other boy's thoughts briefly, hoping to find something of pleasantness or compassion. But there was only contempt and lewd speculation.

"Fer wot?"

Obi-Wan looked up. "Excuse me?"

"Fer watter. Wot'll ye do fer it?"

"Never mind."

The lanky boy laughed and pushed a mane of dirty pale hair out of his face. He came closer to Obi-Wan, reached out a grimy finger to touch the silken robe.

"Forcesake yer a snigetty one."

Obi-Wan backed away towards the warmth of the fire. "Just leave me be. "

He could feel hysteria rising through his gut like fire. Another minute and he would scream. His eyes snapped open as he felt a hand touching his hair. The other boy's dark eyes laughed down at him.

"Yer a small 'un."

Blinded by tears, he simply turned his head away, biting his lip hard to keep them from falling. "Please just leave me alone." His voice quavered dangerously.

The other boy laughed and lifted the long padawan braid. "Wot's this? A leash?"

Obi-Wan straightened up and pushed the boy's hand away. "Stop it." He made his voice as dark as he could, but it didn't seem to phase his tormentor, who only laughed again and grabbed hold of a handful of his hair, dragging his head back.

He was looking up, his eyes wide, not knowing what to expect next, when the enormous doors crashed open. Abruptly, the tall boy released him and fled to the curtained inner recesses. Obi-Wan shrank back against the wall, his breath coming hard and fast.

"What's all that damned junk i' the yard?" boomed a deep voice that echoed through the hall.

A woman's head peered through the curtains, followed by her considerable bulk.

"Yer new slave, Maister. His stuff."

"Forcesakes, did he bring the whole bedamned planet wi'him?"

Obi-Wan stole a look from under his hair.

The Master was a tall man. Very, very tall. He was in leather riding gear, high boots muddied and wet. He threw his cloak down on the table, grabbed the mug there and downed its contents in one gulp. "More."

The woman waddled off to the kitchen as he turned to Obi-Wan.

"C'mere."

He wanted to move. He really did. But somehow his feet wouldn't obey his brain. He just stood there, quivering against the wall, absolutely unable t o make a sound.

"Are you deaf, boy? I said over here."

Obi-Wan forced one foot forward, then another until he was standing at the other end of the big table. He tried to speak, but only made a slight squeaking sound and wisely, decided to keep his mouth shut.

The woman had returned with another tankard the size of a pitcher and set it down.

"Anything else Maister?"

"Yes I'm bloody starvin'." He looked up from the tankard with a truly fearsome scowl. "You. Over here. Don't make me repeat myself or I'll flay the skin off ya."

Obi-Wan moved to stand beside the man, keeping his eyes firmly fastened to the toes of his Master's boots. He hardly dared to breathe.

A very large, very calloused hand ran down his cheek, then under his chin. The touch was firm but surprisingly gentle. His face was lifted and he found himself staring up into a pair of dark blue eyes that watched him intently.

They were quite beautiful, those watching eyes, under strong dark brows. What the rest of the Master looked like was utterly obscured by a wild mane of silvered dark hair and an unruly beard. From somewhere in the beard's depths, he heard a low chuckle.

"Not quite wha' you're used to, is it?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, mortified. Here was his first meeting with his Master and he should have been bathed and polished and powdered. Instead, h e was travel-stained, tear-stained and ready to collapse in confusion and despair. His eyes were filling again and he bit his lower lip. The hand curved around to stroke his neck, making him feel terribly vulnerable.

"All right boy. Let's have a look at ya."

That big hand pushed him back a little. "Turn around"

Obi-Wan obeyed, trying very hard to still the pounding tattoo of his heartbeat.

"Hmmmm." The Master wiped a liberal amount of beer froth from his beard with the back of his sleeve. "You're a small one."

That was the final blow. Obi-Wan's shoulders began to shake and he turned to the wall. He raised both arms to hide his face, his whole body beginning to shudder when he was crushed into the Master's leather tunic.

"All right. All right. Hush now." The big hands gentled his hair, his slender form was enveloped as the entire miserable day seemed to well up inside him and he simply sobbed against the broad chest. The Master was speaking softly, his mane of hair spilling over Obi-Wan's face, smelling faintly of horses and strongly of beer. For a few moments, he cried stormily, hardly hearing his Master's voice through his tears.

"It's all right, child. You've had a long day, I know."

Obi-Wan sniffled and tried to wipe his face with the trailing sleeve of his cloak. But the Master lifted his head and brushed away the tears himself. His blue eyes were gentle.

"I'm gonna let Zath show you where t' go. You'll wanna change I'm sure."

Obi-Wan nodded "I-I-I'mm s-sorry." he murmured softly.

"Zath!!" The roar nearly made him burst into tears again it scared him so badly.

"Zath, get yer ass in here, ya miserable mawgrat!"

A man of middle height and age, shuffled into the Hall.

"Don't waffle around like that!! Walk like a bloody man, you idiot. Take the boy up to my rooms and get his things in here. There's a storm brewin' and I've business i'the stables." He strode to the leather curtain and stuck his head inside.

"All of ye. Look lively."

The Hall exploded into a flurry of activity as a dozen servants scattered to collect the transport cases. The sullen man called Zath took Obi-Wan by the arm.

"This way." He led Obi-Wan up the broad staircase to the upper gallery.

Threading their way through a maze of dark hallways, Zath now walked swiftly , forcing the boy to run to keep up.

He pushed open a large door. "Maister's chambers." He grabbed Obi-Wan's arm and yanked him inside.

The room was big, the fireplace nearly as large as the one in the hall. The huge bed looked as though it had been carved in Corellia a few hundred years ago. Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled in distaste. It was covered with skins and fur. He tried to pull away from Zath's grip to move towards the fire, seeking warmth anywhere he could find it, when sudden pain flared on the tender skin of his inner arm.

"Just remember t'stay up here and not baither us." Zath hissed and gave him another vicious pinch. He barely had time to register the hostility when another group of servants came in with the clothing cases, which they dumped unceremoniously at his feet. Their glares and snickers echoed Zath's as t hey left. Zath laughed shortly and kicked at one of the cases.

"I'd clean this up if I was yew. Maister'll hate the mess." Another snort of laughter. "Wha' yew need all the clothes fer I dunno. He'll jus ' tear 'em off ye."

Obi-Wan stared at Zath, rubbing the bruised skin of his arm. "What have I done to you?" he asked softly. His grey green eyes were hurt.

The man glared down at him contemptuously. "Inner Rim brat whore! As if our Maister'd need t'buy the like of you! Force knows he don't. An' ye r as useful as tits on a bull. Wot'dya think'll happen when he gets bored o 'you? We'll get stuck baby-sittin' and tryin' to make yew inta somethin worth its feed. Bah! " He gestured again to the cases.

"Clean tha' up yerself. It's yer mess."

Growling "whore" again under his breath, Zath stalked out, slamming the doors behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

III

Obi-Wan sank down to the floor, methodically opening the cases and wondering where he would put things. He was so tired and so unhappy that any task helped him focus. Eventually, he found the two wardrobes, one full of his Master's things, the other empty. As he efficiently folded his clothing onto its shelves, he kept remembering Zath's furious contempt, his cruel words. It seemed only the Master himself wanted Obi-Wan here. The rest of his Master's staff evidently regarded him with equal amounts of disdain and hate.

A tear dropped down onto the silken robe he was folding. How would he ever manage in this horrible place? And why had the Masters at the Temple allowed him to be brought to this? Obi-Wan knew his value quite well. He'd been trained to a peak of perfection, knew that there wasn't another padawan at the Temple that could touch him. His auction price could have bought a small planet. Why, oh why hadn't Senator Palpatine purchased him? He thought of his sponsor sadly, remembering pleasant dinners and garden walks with the man he had hoped to be his master. More tears stained the delicate fabric in his hands. What was the point of all those years of learning if he were to be stuck in this savage place with a house full of hostile barbarians?

He went to the other case and pulled out the oils and pleasure toys he'd b een equipped with before he left Coruscant. As he found a drawer for them in the bedside table he shook his red-gold head. What was the use of all that? His Master would more than likely simply throw him down and take him like an animal. The thought made him shudder. But it spun off its own train of thoughts. What will it be like, finally? He knew what to expect, but had no practical experience. And what is Master like? Another shudder raced through him and came to settle somewhere below his waist. The feeling mirrored the knot in his stomach, but was rather more pleasurable.

Obi-Wan sat back on the floor, leaning his head against the coverlet and yawned. The fur was soft against his cheek and he closed his eyes.

A loud banging woke him with a start. Blinking in semi-darkness, he sat upright, looking around wildly. Then he heard the wind, a high, keening moan in the flue, making the fire spit. A shutter somewhere to his left. That was the banging.

He padded over to close it, absently scratching his neck. The shutter was deep in a windowseat recess and he had to crawl across another drape of fur to reach it. His neck was still itching unbearably as he walked back to the fire. He crouched down there, wondering how long he'd been asleep and if his Master was going to feed him. When he saw it, he froze in complete horror. It was plain as day,a crawling speck on the creamy silk of his sleeve. A flea.

His stomach roiling, he suppressed a shriek and then his lips set in a grim line. This he would not accept. No, not ever, not if that brat and Zath and his Force- bedamned Master pinched and starved him to death in a cesspit. His slender body tense with anger, he grabbed the bedclothes and yanked them free.

Trailing the tangle of fur and skin and linen, he stalked down the corridor to the landing over the Hall, where Zath and the woman loafed in front of the fireplace. Zath looked up with a smirk, but Obi-Wan allowed him no time for comment. With a gesture of one slim hand, the whole mass of material was hurled over the railing to the flagstones near Zath's feet.

"Burn those and get me the other cases." it was a hiss, but quite audible.

The woman gazed up at him, openmouthed, but Zath sneered. "The hell wi ' yew, ya --"

Zath found himself face down in the rumpled mass.

//Burn them. Get me the other cases.// Zath shook his head, then nodded.

"I'll burn 'em and get yer other cases."

Obi-Wan leaned forward over the railing, a slim white ghost, the torchlight flickering in his ruddy hair. It caught a glimmer of pearl in his teeth as he smiled very sweetly.

"Thank you."

He felt a little better as he stomped back to the Master's chambers. He k new he should be ashamed of his burst of temper, that he should be very ashamed to have used his abilities in such a manner. But all he really felt was a savage pleasure in his gut. He waited by the fire, quietly reveling in the feeling until his cases were brought into the room. This time they were placed against the far wall in a neat line. He ignored the bearers and his reverie was disturbed by a tug at his sleeve.

It was the little girl, struggling to balance a large tray laden with a goblet, a pitcher, some bread and fruit.

Immediately, he reached out to help her. Her eyes were very blue and very big.

"Thankee, uh...sir..." she stammered. Obi-Wan put the tray on the round table by the fire, then knelt down to look at her. She was small, perhaps five or six, very dirty.

"You don't have to call me sir. "

"Well...?" she considered it for a moment. "Yer the temple ...uh.... " clearly she was attempting to find a suitable word.

His eyes met hers evenly. "Temple what?"

"Zath says slut. Tha' true? Yer fer Maister's bed?"

Obi-Wan sighed. Well, I suppose it's the truth, if a bit crude.

He nodded. "Yes. But I hope he'll find more in me than just that."

She cocked her head to one side. "Yer from Inner ain'tcha? Where the Temple is? Wha's it like there? Yew talk awful funny."

He smiled and sat down on the carpet beside her. "It's beautiful. The most beautiful place in the galaxy. There are golden towers and gardens with fountains and flowers."

"There's rivers?"

"Yes, and lakes, too."

Her small face scrunched up a little. "Yew must miss it. Oh, I'm Ara. "

"Pleased to meet you, Ara. I'm Obi-Wan."

"Zath tell me t'tell yew Maister'll be late. Fav'rit mare is foalin '"

"Mare?"

"His horse, silly. Yew've got lots t'learn. And doan mind Zath and Koll. They be angered cos Maister looked offworld. And brung yew here." She paused and stared for a moment.

"I hafta go back doan."

Obi-Wan uncurled himself and took her small hand in his.

"I'm very glad to have met you, Ara. Thank you."

She scampered over to the door and turned with a grin.

""Sides, I think yer wonderful fair." she whispered, then ran down the hall.

Obi-Wan wandered to the table, absently picking at the bread. Wonderful fair? He knew he was beautiful when tricked out properly. Force knows he'd been told that enough. But now? Exhausted, unbathed, his clothing as rumpled as his mind--was he still 'wonderful fair'? More importantly, would his Master think so. He fell back into his first reverie, wondering about his Master, wondering about the night. Before he knew it, he'd eaten every bit of the bread. Tentatively, he took a sip from the goblet. Water, very pure, very clear. It tasted like the Force itself and he drank thirstily.

Feeling much better, Obi -Wan immediately set to work re-outfitting the bed. The protocol droids back at the Temple had made sure that he was equipped with sheets, blankets, coverlets, everything that was necessary, all manufactured to the exact specifications his Master's servant had given them. He glanced back at the bed in dismay. Those fleas. No sense to dress it all up and be bitten to death all night.

He grinned to himself and rummaged around in another of the cases until he found the L'avner spray. It was made for firefly-viewing parties, scenting the area with its heady fragrance. It would keep the pretty insects at a proper viewing distance and out of the food. It was also absolutely deadly to fleas. Still grinning ear to ear, he sprayed the bed, the carpet, and the rest of the draperies and throws. While doing so, he found a small housekeeping droid in a corner and activated it to sweep up properly. Then he collected his supplies and went looking for the bath.

It was the adjoining room, very large and surprisingly hot. As he walked, glows on the wall activated and threw the circular chamber into a warm wash of light. There were small sounds of rushing water and as Obi-Wan neared the enormous wooden tub, he realized it was cleverly constructed around a natural spring. Enchanted by at least one thing about his new home, he stripped and sank into the warm water gratefully. It felt good, a little more buoyant that the water in Coruscant.

He pulled three different kinds of soap and two razors from his bathcase and began the ritual that he had followed every night for the past four years. It felt wonderfully comforting and familiar and, once satisfied that he was entirely smooth and clean, he let himself go limp near the mouth of the natural jet. The warm water poured over his young body and he found himself wondering again. What's he like? And how will he do it?

By the time he dragged his limp body out of the tub, primped, powdered and and dried his hair, the housekeeping droid had finished making the enormous bed. The silken sheets, treated to meld with his own pheromones, glowed in the torchlight. Funny, he thought, he keeps glows in the bathroom only. I wonder why?

He slipped on his evening robe and smoothed the padded silken coverlet on his way to the fireplace. The material dragged across his nipples, making him gasp a little. Several months prior to his auction, he'd been given a gift of genetic modification by his sponsor: every erogenous zone of his body had been enhanced to hypersensitivity. A lovely present, but sometimes overwhelming. He settled himself into one of the large chairs by the fireside, squirming a little. Certainly, it had enhanced his sensibilities and his pleasure, but it made simple things, like the act of oiling himself for the night very intense. And he was so tired. He really didn't want to feel intense just now. Only sleepy.

His head dropped forward and he dozed, listening to the muffled howl of the wind outside the window.


	4. Chapter 4

IV

Somewhere near dawn, when the sky was just beginning to lose its thick blackness, Obi-Wan awoke. More thumping down the hall. Forcesakes is quiet impossible around here? he thought, nestling back into the big chair. His eyelids were just drooping when the door slammed open. He sat up with a start.

His Master was shedding stained garments as he walked across the room to the table, with its waiting pitcher and goblets. Half-dressed, he lifted the pitcher and took a long draught, the liquid spilling over his beard and into his hair, streaking through the blood that covered half his face and both hands all the way to his elbows. With the low firelight gleaming in the whites of his eyes, he looked to Obi-Wan like War Incarnate, a demon out of a creche-tale, a monster. He huddled back into the chair, too terrified to speak.

The glowing eyes came to rest on him. They suddenly seemed bleary and unfocused. He heaved a great sigh, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Bath."

With that he turned and walked to the bathchamber.

Obi-Wan stared after him, dazed. Somehow, he managed to get up and grab his bathcase.

His Master was already sprawled in the tub, head back under the natural fount, his long hair floating behind him like seaweed. // Force, he's huge !! //Obi-Wan quickly shed his robe and waded into the tub, soap in hand. // "/Remember your training, Obi." //

Obi-Wan reached out to begin washing his Master. He trembled a little as he lifted one big hand. Efficiently, he soaped up the broad blunt fingers onto the palm, over the swell at the base of the thumb. He moved up the arm, his slender hands deft and gentle over the broad chest. Obi-Wan's eyes darted up, then down. Which direction? He shied from the choice by concentrating on the bearded face and hair. That done, he retreated to his Master's feet, grimacing at their calloused roughness. Forcing his mind to blank, he moved up the powerful legs, feeling their roped muscles relax under his touch. Delicately, he made his way over the dark groin, trying to ignore the formidable size of the organ he handled.

"MMMMmmmmmm tha's good." a deep sigh.

Obi-Wan dropped it as though it were a snake, skittering back to the edge of the tub. He heard his Master's low chuckle.

"Come back here."

Making himself float those two feet was the hardest thing he'd ever done. // Training be damned, he'll kill me!! // He was panicking. Then those big hands were on him, gentle and exploring. Hardly able to breath, he flowed into his Master's arms. The blue eyes were watching him again, laughter crinkling their corners.

"You're scared to death."

Obi-Wan's pupils dilated. His lower lip was trembling a little.

Then it was claimed in a kiss.

Obi-Wan relaxed into the kiss. It was not exploring, just gentle and sweet. He was released abruptly as his Master got up and lifted him out of the tub as though he were a child.

"Such a little thing." he murmured with another chuckle, then laughed outright at the rebellious set of Obi-Wan's jaw.

"You don't like that, do you?" he tilted the boy's face up. The great green eyes were wide, then dropped under their shadowed lashes. He traced the smooth line of Obi-Wan's cheek, then swatted him playfully.

"Get the towels, boy."

Obi-Wan retrieved the big bathsheets. His Master took one and gave himself a brief rubdown, then wound it round his hips. His big hands pulled Obi-Wan closer and he wound the other towel around the slender body.

"Can ye not speak boy?"

"Y-Yes, of course I can." Oh , that didn't sound right at all!!

But the Master only laughed again and leaned forward to dry him off. "So was your travel really tha' bad? Ya looked like somethin' a cat dragged in. "

The red-gold head crested against his hand. "Yes. It was dreadful."

Obi-Wan took the towel from his Master's hands and sank to his knees, beginning to dry his feet. He was pulled up roughly by one arm.

"None o'that nonsense. I'm na cripple."

Obi-Wan tried hard to conceal his confusion. How was he to remember his training if his training wasn't what his Master wanted? He felt as though he were trapped in an eerie dream of contradictions, just as the big man before him was a study of contradictions. He opted for humility.

"I'm sorry Master."

Another rumble of laughter.

//Tha' was sincere.//

Obi-Wan's head shot up. But his Master just finished drying himself off and turned to the door.

"Finish whatever ya need t' do and come to the fire. I want a good look at ye."


	5. Chapter 5

V

His mouth was dry and his hands were shaking as he stayed in the bath to finish drying and attend to his oils and lotions. For the first time in at least three years, his actions frightened him. Obi-Wan forced his mind to go blank once more and managed to finish his toilette quickly. He reached for his evening robe and knotted the wide sash loosely, tying it in the front rather than the back.

It was irrational for him to be so scared and lost: he'd been trained for this for most of his life. He knew what he made for, then why was he shaking so he could barely run the comb through his hair? Another sensitive, and trained enough to be able to mindspeak. It made him feel more vulnerable than the breadth of those large hands on his body, on his neck, his lower back. Shivering, he glanced at his reflection in the single, small glass near the doorway.

He raised one hand to his cheek. Was this really his own reflection? He was so pale, his eyes heavily circled and burning too brightly. The spring green robe made them look like a pair of transparent oceans. He took a deep breath and leaned forward to pinch some colour into his cheeks: all the cosmetics were in another case and he refused to be shown to his Master at a disadvantage twice in one day. He just wished he didn't look so small and scared.

When he padded barefoot to stand near the fire, his Master was sprawled in one of the big chairs, his head lolling.

"Master?" Obi-Wan whispered.

"Master?" a little louder.

He bit his lip nervously.

"Master!" Oh no, not that yelp again. Obi-Wan gulped and ducked his head. When he dared to raise his eyelids, those eyes were fastened on him again.

The firelight gleamed silver in his beard, in the wings of the mane that shadowed his face. He reached forward and pulled the boy to stand, imprisoned, between his legs.

"Tha' was good."

Obi-Wan's eyes sought the floor, but it was impossible. The way his Master held him, he could only look down into those blue eyes.

They were gazing at him, speculating. "You're shakin', lad. I'm not gonna cut your throat, y'know. " A deep rumble of a laugh. "Damn, boy, you cost far too much!"

He was pulled onto his Master's lap in a flurry of silk. It made him feel absolutely helpless and he forced himself to lean into the embrace, leaning his head against the bearded neck. The huge arms tightened around him briefly.

Then he was lifted and carried to the bed. Surprisingly, his Master laid him down very gently.

"C'mon. I'm bloody exhausted."

Obi-Wan struggled rather gracelessly to his knees to pull the coverlet back, thankful that his Master never noticed. He simply slid between the sheets and pulled Obi-Wan close again.

"Lose that." his fingers plucked at the silken robe.

Once Obi-Wan shrugged out of the robe, he was pulled down into the sheets roughly. The sheets...oh ghods, that pheromone treatment! He fully expected to see his Master lose himself in some kind of brutal, mindless rut, but the strong arms simply held him, pressing their bodies together. Then the big hands relaxed.

Obi-Wan held still, held his breath.

At first, the touches were very gentle, mere whispers of fingertips against his flesh. He raised his arms to wind them around his Master's neck, and his mouth was claimed in a fierce kiss. Suddenly one hand was twisted in his hair, pulling his head closer. Obi-Wan sobbed a little, and the hand eased its grip. The boy's lips parted, trembling and allowed the exploration of his mouth, responding automatically to the tongue against his own. "Remember your training..." He let himself melt into the kiss, pulling on years of training to make himself use his muscles as they were meant to be used. His Master's tongue swirling around his upper palate, he wound one leg up to cross the powerful thighs, felt himself lifted up to perch on the flat stomach.

The Master had one hand around his waist, the other running crosswise over his chest, pausing to circle one of those hypersensitive nipples. It peaked immediately, making Obi-Wan shudder against the fingers. He was making soft, needing sounds as his Master grasped both nipples firmly, then harder, and harder until pleasure bordered on agony and he arched backwards.

"So sensitive," his Master murmured low, reaching down to lift the slender legs further apart, his fingers stealing a quick caress of the boy's now-hard cock. Obi-Wan wriggled against them, feeling the press of his Master's erection against his ass. Swaying into the moment, his hands moved down over the broad chest, teasing and light, then reached behind him to stroke the twin creases between thigh and groin. His Master's moan was gratifying, and he ducked down to kiss the lips buried in that silvery beard. He was surer of himself now, and it made it easier to respond to the hands that stroked him, running calloused palms over his silky skin. His lips were sucked into another kiss as one roughened finger slid down between his cheeks to touch gently at the sweet-oiled opening.

Obi-Wan froze. Only for a moment, but he felt himself blushing in the midst of the kiss at such a lapse. His Master continued to slowly finger and circle the tender skin, making him squirm and rock his hips involuntarily. The other hand reached between their bodies to grasp his cock and he twitched as though shocked.

"Your mouth," his Master growled and he returned himself to the exploring tongue and lips that threatened to devour him. The finger slipped just inside him but he was so lost in the kiss that he barely registered it, until it pushed in deeper and he whimpered, his tongue trembling against his Master's.

Deeper still and his breath was catching in his chest as it pushed far past his own cleansing ritual or anything else he'd ever felt. The Master's other hand pulled at his cock again and his face was buried in the wire of his beard. He relaxed against the invasion, willing his hips back until it stroked at him and he jerked in ecstasy, breaking away with a gasp. His Master's eyes were nearly black in the flickering light, and he smiled.

"Shhhh..." He was pulled back down, his head cradled against the hollow of his Master's throat as that finger stroked him again, deep, deep inside and his whole body shuddered. One finger became two, then more, then something else as he was lifted upright, riding the wave of passion that was overwhelming him.

He reached one hand behind him, feeling where his Master had penetrated him, his other hand braced against the headboard. His Master's hips were moving beneath him and he ground down into the rhythm, nearly cross-eyed every time he pushed back against a stroke. His own cock was imprisoned in that broad hand and he was alternately pushed back into the invading erection and forward to the pulling fingers. His head fell back and he simply rode his Master in a spiral of sensation.

Obi-Wan's hips slid back and forth, his eyes rolling back in his head. Then, white light exploded in his mind and he exploded with it. The orgasm took him by surprise and, even as he bucked forward into his Master's hand, he bit back any sound, horrified at his lack of control. But the big body beneath him continued to pump at him and his altered sensitivity did not allow for more thought. His hips continued their grinding against the pool of dampness seeping between their bodies when he felt his Master stiffen and arch beneath him. He regained enough sense to remember his internal controls and tightened the muscles around the big cock spearing him.

His Master grabbed his arms so hard he winced and thrust furiously into him. Obi-Wan gasped at the hot flood spouting into his body. With a low moan, he sank forward against his Master's heaving chest and trembled there, panting. He could feel the slow seep from his insides, felt as though his muscles had turned to ch'all mush and he nestled his head against his Master's shoulder with a sigh. It was over.

For a long time, he was simply held against his Master's chest, then was gently rolled onto his side.

//Not too bad, little one?//

Obi-Wan cuddled closer, stretching one arm across him. //Not bad at all.//

"Not at all." he whispered as he slipped into warm oblivion.


	6. Chapter 6

VI

Obi-Wan drifted up from sleep, felt the covers being pulled back and rolled with a groan into the pillows. They were yanked from under him.

//C'mon boy. Wake up.//

Obi-Wan sat up, startled at that deep voice within his mind.

His Master was sitting by the fireplace, calming peeling a piece of fruit. Beneath the beard, his lips twitched at the boy's obvious discomfort.

"How did..?"

The Master laughed softly. "If anyone should know tha', you should. Now get up. It's almost mid-hour, y'know."

Obi-Wan hopped out of the bed, stretching. He still felt entirely disoriented and a little sore. Methodically, he replaced the bedclothes properly, then collected his bath things.

More laughter. " I can see you're gonna dry up the spring! "

He paused, confused, and turned obediently back to the fireplace.

"No, no. Go on! You'll need t' get cleaned up."

Obi-Wan felt himself flushing and fairly fled to the bath.

He tried to gather his thoughts as he bathed, wincing a little when he lowered himself into the tub. Force, but the man was enormous! Looking down, he was shocked to realize that there were very distinct oval bruises ringing both his arms, just above the elbow. Fingermarks. His Master's marks, along with the wretched black and purple welts where Zath had pinched him. Not one day, and he was already being damaged. He restrained the urge to throw the soap across the room and settled for furiously scrubbing his hair. All throughout his ablutions, he found himself becoming increasingly angry at himself for all the tears yesterday. Force, what a fool he must have looked! Well, he wasn't exhausted from hours of travel now and he took a deep breath, trying to centre himself.

//All right, Obi,// he thought. //What are the facts here? Your Master is a complete savage. The household thinks of you as a ten-credit whore. Worst of all, your Master is not only Force-sensitive. He's been trained.//

"Ugh!" he yanked hard at a snarl with the comb. How in Force was he going to handle all this? It was a Jedi's place to use their Force abilities to please their Masters. It's what they were prized for, that extra-normal control of mind and body.

//How in Sith hells did he get any training? It's ridiculous! I couldn't 't ever even begin to imagine him as a Jedi!//

Obi-Wan giggled at the thought of his big Master wound in a seryth-silk robe .

"Very flatterin'"

Obi-Wan's head snapped up and he stared, open-mouthed at his Master.

"I know ya' ve been taught some kind of shieldin'. You might wanna brush up on it."

"But how do you know---?" Obi-Wan asked flatly.

He stood up, still dripping and the Master grabbed one of the big towels and began drying him off.

"Just do wha' I tell ya t'do, boy. Now get yer ass in gear. We've a long afternoon ahead of us."

There were clothes laid on the table by the fire for him: a knee-length tunic of some heavy green material, a plain white one for underneath, white leggings and knee-high boots. Obi-Wan turned to his Master, one eyebrow cocked.

"Just put 'em on. We're gonna see how far you've gotten."

Cryptic reply. //Gotten with what?// he thought. //And does he have to dress me like a damned peasant!//

A sharp slap to his backside as he bent over to pull on the leggings made him yelp.

"Keep a civil tongue in yer head if yer not gonna shield your thoughts. "

Simmering with resentment, Obi-Wan finished getting dressed and dutifully fell in behind his Master, down the stairs and through the Hall. His Master stopped to whistle and four big animals, probably some canine species, ran to his side. He fondled their big ears absently.

"Hungry?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. His stomach was in too much of a knot to think of eating. The Master strode to the enormous doors and Obi-Wan waited for the servants to rush to open them. They were well over twenty feet high and bolted twice, high above his own head.

With a wave of his hand, Master Qui-Gon drew the bolts and pushed the doors back. The sunlight outside was blinding and Obi-Wan blinked against its glare like an owl for a moment.

"C'mon. Stop dawd'lin."

Obi-Wan had to run to catch up as his Master crossed the yard, following a rough-hewn slate path to a large circular area, smoothed with sand. It was shielded from the sunlight by the deepening shadows of the building. Obi-Wan eyed it curiously. It looked similar to the ribboned rings where he had been taught the intricate kata-dances, but much larger. The air was crisp and clean, a hint of spring in it.

His Master had stripped off his outer tunic and stretched hugely.

"Start with the first kata. The way they trained ya."

Obediently, Obi-Wan took of the green tunic and centred himself in the sand ring. Slowly, he began the first liquid moves of the dance, his body relaxing into the Force with his mind. He speeded up, his arms and legs in unison, then diverging, the steps so reinforced in his mind that he was one with them. He ended this simple dance with a Force-leap backwards, then stopped.

Master Qui-Gon was standing with his arms crossed, shaking his head. He heaved a sigh.

"What level are you at?"

"Sixth form perfectly. I had begun the seventh before-"

"Show me." The was distinct disapproval in his Master's expression and it made Obi-Wan nervous. He struggled through the difficult sixth kata, missing more than a few of the intricate acrobatics, but managed to make it to the final leap.

"Ghods above, what a travesty!" Qui-Gon muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath and waved Obi-Wan aside.

"All right. I'm gonna show you how it should be done."

Obi-Wan's eyes were enormous as he backed out of the ring. He bit his lip, flushing with shame. He knew that piece, but he also knew his performance had been shoddy. And he was doubly confused as to how his huge barbarian of a Master could know these delicate and Force-driven dances.

Qui-Gon moved into the centre of the circle, closing his eyes briefly. When they opened, they were glassy as he sank his mind deeply into the Force. Then he began the first moves of the sixth kata. But oh how different they looked! His body moved with incredible grace, sliding from one set of moves to another with effortless fluidity.

Then, they changed. Obi-Wan stared as his Master's body twisted and arced in movements that were clearly different from what he had learned and were definitely not dance steps. There was a subdued aggression in them, a dangerous quality that was as subtle as it was beautiful to behold. Obi-Wan found himself holding his breath until his Master made the last, incredible leap and landed on one knee, his left arm extended outward, his right crossing his chest, palms outward, fingers flexed.

It was spellbinding.

Slowly, Qui-Gon's eyes opened and he stood up.

"That is the sixth kata. Not tha' mincing shite they taught you."


	7. Chapter 7

VII

Obi-Wan let his head fall back under the water and sighed in delight. Another grueling workout and his muscles felt like over-stretched elastic bands. He rolled over lazily in the water and began to absently soap himself. //What a difference!!// he thought with a smirk. No one at the Temple would ever have believed the things he was doing here on this Force-forsaken outworld.

He winced as he rubbed down his calves. They were tight from the effort of practising the seventh kata. Not the modern dance, but the ancient warrior's kata. Another grin and a little giggle escaped his lips. He'd bet that most of the Temple padawans at Coruscant didn't even know what the katas were originally. And, oh Force, they were so much harder than the dances!

In the three months he had been with his Master, his former life at the Temple seemed to him a wavering, half-forgotten dream. Another grin split his face as he thought of all that luggage he had dragged with him. He'd barely opened the clothing cases. What was the point of silken, trailing robes that would only get under his feet and trip him on the uneven flagstones. //Funny// he thought. //I don't miss them that much.//

He still attended to his daily ritual of cleaning and shaving, taking extra care over his hands and feet, which were developing a tendency to callouses. That wouldn't do at all, and he redoubled his efforts to retain the silky smooth skin of which he had always been so vain. But there were unmistakable rough spots on his right palm. Spots that exactly coincided with the grip on his lightsabre. He couldn't repress another snort of laughter. Him, a Temple padawan, with a weapon!! It was a totally ludicrous thought, and yet, somehow, it seemed perfectly natural.

He bent his head in concentration, working on the spots with a pumice stone.

Sometimes, over the past months, he had felt as though he were splitting into two people. There was the Obi-Wan he had always been: the perfectly trained courtesan, skilled in every elegant art. And there was a new Obi-Wan he couldn't recognize in the mirror. This Obi-Wan was a fighter, being trained to use the Force in ways his former self would never have known existed. It often made him sad to think how wasted all his early training was in this place. But his Master had little use for incense-guessing games and other such pleasant diversions. Qui-Gon was a warrior, trained and constantly training, always pushing himself and his padawan to their limits.

Obi-Wan groaned and pulled himself out of the tub. He had fifteen minutes to get ready to meet his Master down in the solarium for two hours of meditation. Swiftly, he finished up and yanked on fresh tunics and leggings . Every minute with his Master was a lesson, and some he liked better than others. He most enjoyed their sabretraining. He was less enthralled with meditating, having a bad tendency to woolgather that often earned him a sharp smack to the side of his head.

He paused, looking at the bottle of oil in his hand and closed his eyes for a moment. A slow smile touched the corners of his mouth. //MMMmmmm. That part of my old training he seems to like.// The smile became a devilish little grin and he laughed aloud to himself. Nights were like the sabretraining: exhausting, and exhilarating.

He was still grinning like a fool, his face flushed with memories when he put the bottle down and bolted out of the door.

He ran down the corridor, taking the steps two at a time. He was flying across the Hall when he crashed into Koll.

The older boy landed flat on his bottom. Obi-Wan staggered back, seeing stars.

"Oh hells, I'm sorry." He held out a hand to help Koll up. It was ignored.

Koll pulled himself to his feet with a curse.

"Yew damned brat! " he growled, then launched himself at Obi-Wan.

The blow caught him across the face and he reeled backwards. For a moment, he cowered under the fists as Koll flailed at him furiously. He grabbed Obi-Wan by the hair and pulled his head back.

"I shoul've known yew'd stand there and take it, like th' guid little whore yew are."

Another sharp slap to his face.

Something inside Obi-Wan snapped as he tasted blood where the blow had cut the inside of his mouth against his teeth. His green eyes narrowed as he let his body relax, then balled up both fists and struck Koll in the solar plexus, then lower in the stomach.

The taller boy grunted and bent double, struggling to straighten up, his fists still aimed at Obi-Wan's head. Obi-Wan dodged back, then pulled his right arm back and let it fly, catching Koll squarely in the face. He crumpled to the flagstones in a heap, half-conscious.

Obi-Wan leaned over him, his eyes glittery, blood spattering his lips.

"I told you I was sorry. Now just leave me the hell alone!"

His slender shoulders squared, he stalked out of the hall into the kitchen.

"I'd like a glass of water."

Old Mairteth turned from her root-peeling and gave a little scream. "What!!?"

"Just water. And he'll probably need some ice."

She waddled out into the Hall to fuss over Koll, wailing "Oh yew evil brat !! Yew've kilt him f'sure!"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and went to the pump to rinse out his mouth. Then he poked through the cold-unit and found a chunk of ice. Wrapping in a towel, he stomped back into the Hall and handed it down to Koll.

"Here."

Mairteth was still moaning and wailing, Koll was pressing the ice to a rapidly swelling eye and whining when the Master's booming roar silenced them.

"Wha' the hell is goin' on in here!!!" He glared at Obi-Wan. "You're ten minutes late." He looked down at Koll.

"And what in Force sake's happened t'you?"

Koll shook his head sullenly. "Nuthin'"

Qui-Gon looked from the fallen servant with his blackened eye to his padawan , whose lips and cheek were swollen and going purple.

"Obi-Wan?"

He took a deep breath and met his Master's blue eyes evenly.

"I hit him."

"Why?"

Koll stood up. "I hit 'im first." His one good eye met Obi-Wan's w ith a twisted grin. Obi-Wan grinned back at him.

Qui-Gon bit back a laugh and schooled his features to a glower.

"I won't have fightin' in the hall. If you two have t'fight each other, do it outside." he muttered, turning away. "Now get into the solarium, you !" He grabbed Obi-Wan by the arm and gave him a push.

Two hours of meditation were expanded to four, with a lecture on the uses and abuses of aggressive actions.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

Obi-Wan ran lightly up the broad steps and down one of the corridors, leaving Ara patiently hiding her eyes and counting by the fireplace. She was small, but annoyingly clever at this game and it wasn't easy to find a good hiding spot that she wouldn't discover.

He ran up another flight of steps, down another hall, and found himself on a floor he had never seen. The corridor was narrower up here: Obi-Wan realized he must be in the east tower, for the hallway circled inner rooms, winding upwards in a slow incline. Curious now, and only half-mindful of Ara's game, he poked his head into empty chambers covered in dust and disused furnishings.

His Master had never forbidden him access to the towers. But he had not encouraged it either. Tactfully, Obi-Wan had refrained from exploring them . After all, his Master deserved some privacy in his own palace. He was often curious and, once or twice, was sorely tempted to sneak around them. His innate sense of decorum kept him from giving in to the temptation. Odd that he should find himself here in the midst of a child's game.

As he followed the rising hallway, he glanced down into the courtyard from one of the slitted windows cut in the stone walls. The afternoon sun seeped through just enough to illuminate the worn carpet and damp-stained walls. Obi-Wan paused, leaning his head against the angled window. //Sith hells, I never thought I would get used to being so--so---soggy!//

It certainly rained enough here. More than enough. His Master never seemed to notice, training in the sand circle in pouring rain as easily as in sunlight. Obi-Wan giggled to himself. //I wonder if he does it at night, too, in the moonlight?// The thought made him flush a little. //No, I don 't think so. He's not out there at night that I know.//

He flushed a little darker and wrapped his arms around himself, his young face raised to the slender streak of golden light. It caught like spangles in the red of his hair, his lashes.

Suddenly, he turned his head to stare up the corridor. Voices, very low coming from a chamber above him.

Cautiously, he crept up the corridor until he was at the doorway of the high Tower room. Light streamed in here from the glass-domed roof. Warily, he crouched down by the door.

"So what are we do to, Qui? If it's as you say--" an unfamiliar voice, deep and velvety.

"Do? Yer mad, Mace. We canna let this keep goin' on. It's criminal." his Master's voice, low and urgent.

"He's gained so much in three months. His abilities are exceptional. I canna risk it anymore. Those mucky bastards are takin' the best of 'em and turning them into damned whores."

Obi-Wan felt the heat rising in his face. Is that what his Master thought of him? He was gnawing on his lip, his throat beginning to close.

The other voice was soft and amused. "Well, you don't seem to mind those talents much."

A harsh laugh. "Damn, no. He's bloody amazing in bed. I hope to make him as effective in a killin' ground."

The other's voice grew thoughtful. "Why would they do that? Take all that ability and only focus it in one place."

A loud thump: his Master's fist hitting the table. His voice moved to and fro and Obi-Wan knew he was pacing. He often did when he was agitated.

"Who bloody knows! Whoremasters! That's what the Temple has become. Pimps! It's a sin, Mace. A thrice-damned sin."

Qui-Gon's voice sank to a vicious whisper. "They're controlling the best of 'em by making them toys. I wilna have it anymore. We've gotta stop his somehow. They're takin' them young. Obi was only two when the Finders ' claimed him."

Obi-Wan hugged his knees, his ears so pricked he thought they must be pointed. He stole a look into the sunlit chamber.

His Master was, indeed, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. The man he was talking to sat at a large table. He was tall, and dark and dressed quite simply in a blue robe. His eyes looked kind.

"So how can we stop it, Qui? We have no power. Hells, if they know about us at all, they will simply brand us as rogues."

Qui-Gon wheeled around, his face masklike, blue eyes blazing. "Rogues indeed! As if their pathetic rules count for shite!"

"Calm down, Jinn! You're letting your anger take control." The dark man's voice was so soft and calm.

Qui-Gon inhaled deeply, his head thrown back.

From where Obi-Wan huddled in the doorway, his Master's face, illumined by the deepening gold of the sunlight was unbearably harsh. Every line was thrown into relief, his eyes closed and circled.

"All right. If it's rogues they want, then rogues we will be. What's the treasury situation, Mace? I know I put a hell of a dent in it when I bought the boy."

"Not too bad. We could use another run."

"Hmmm. Maybe that poncy little spaceport in Ceruspa would make a good target? Ya think?"

To Obi-Wan's frightened eyes, his Masters smile looked more like a shark 's.

"Fine. Plenty of vacationers, plenty of cash, jewels. It's ripe and the security is lax."

"Perfect. Wha' d'ya think we can clear outta this? You did the research."

"We could have Obi-Wan's price doubled there. Easily." Mace reached out to grab hold of Qui-Gon's arm. "You know that we'll support you. But so me of them don't approve of your methods for funding our cause."

Qui-Gon waved his hand with a careless laugh. "As if I cared. Besides, they're always grateful enough f'the money." He laughed harshly, with out humour. " Listen, Mace. We've got to do this. I wilna be responsible for not taking th' steps to prevent another like Obi becomin' a bleedin' glorified bedslave."

Obi-Wan felt his face flame scarlet. He was a padawan, not a bedslave!! Bedslaves were the failed ones, the ones who had not found sponsors. They were sold off to Coruscant's lower level brothels, or worse, were given to the Republican Guard. Those who went to the Guardhouse rarely lived more than a few months. He had never thought much about it, once he had been sponsored by Senator Palpatine. Didn't his barbarian of a Master know anything!!?

Dazed, he stood up and began the slow descent to the main corridor, his chest tight and his eyes burning with unshed tears. Bedslave!? Is that all he was to his Master? He paused, pressing one hand to his mouth to still a sob.

Most of the conversation meant nothing to him. He could not understand why Qui-Gon had bought him, and what were those "abilities" of which he had spoken? He knew he was stronger with the Force than ever, that his sense of completeness had been such joy. Joy, too, had been his in his Master's arms and at his side.

All that joy was gone now in the knowledge that, to his Master, he was nothing more than a living sex-toy. If Qui-Gon thought of him as a "glorified bedslave" why all the time with the weapons and training and meditation? Obi-Wan felt as though his throat would close up entirely and his tears would suffocate him. He leaned against the wall towards the bottom of the winding passage and struggled for some kind of control.

"Wha' the hell are yew doin' here? "

Zath was standing in the door of the lowest tower room with an armful of linens. His face was dark with anger.

Obi-Wan looked up at him sightlessly, his lips trembling.

Zath's face twisted and he shoved the linens into Obi-Wan's arms. "Carry those and follow me, brat. It's abou' time yew were useful for sumpthin' other than a fuck."

Gasping as though he'd been struck, Obi-Wan dropped the linens and simply ran down the corridor, into the Hall and out the huge doors, open to admit the summer breeze.

He kept running until he was near the banks of the large lake and curled up beneath one of the big trees, sobbing himself into a groggy half-sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

IX

When he roused it was already twilight. Blue shadows surrounded him where the sunlight had danced. His head was aching and he was getting chilly. Slowly, he dragged himself upright and leaned back against the rough bark, trying to make sense of that conversation.

Whoremasters? His creche-masters at the Temple? How could anyone think that? He was so exquisitely trained, knew how to discern, with such delicacy, the nuances of music, food; sight, and sound. Was he really nothing more than a bedslave with manners? The thought alone brought fresh tears to his eyes. And yet there was a small voice within him that screamed yes.

//Yes, that's what you are. Simply a toy, but trained to be presentable as well. Above a bedslave or a pleasure slave, but nothing more.//

His muscles twitched. He had missed the afternoon workout in the training ring and longed for the clash of his sabre against his Master's, that deadly and intricate dance of skill.

He stopped trying to think and stared out over the lake, watching the swift fall of evening shadows on the water. He was sick of his own self-pity, just as he was sick of the self-loathing he'd felt ever since he'd come to this horrid place. At least at the Temple he'd known what he was and had some pride in it.

"Fine. Then that's what I am." he remarked to the shadows.

"Do ya really believe that?" a quiet voice behind him made him start. He bolted upright, his slender body quivering with tension.

For a long moment, he simply stared at his Master, a wave of fury building within him.

"What does it matter? It's what you think." he retorted scornfully. The green eyes were narrowed, his lips tightened with anger.

Qui-Gon was standing easily near the path, his weight thrown onto one hip, arms crossed. His face was in shadow, but Obi-Wan could hear the infuriating smile in his voice.

"Then make me think different."

Obi-Wan stood rigidly, glaring at his Master in the dim light. The air around them fairly crackled.

He reacted without thought, catching his lightsabre and igniting it in one fluid movement, even as Qui-Gon tossed it to him and ignited his own sabre.

"C'mon." the low voice taunted him as they circled each other warily. "If yer so damned sensitive about it. Make me understan' who the hell you are, Obi-Wan."

His whole body launched into the air as he leapt forward, sabre flashing out. Qui-Gon parried him easily and they circled each other again, Obi-Wan searching for an opening. He lunged forward, only to be beaten back. He was trembling with a white-hot fury he had never before felt in his short life.

Again he darted forward, blue and green blades hissing, humming, clashing in a flurry of violent blows. Obi-Wan could barely see, his entire being caught up in his rage.

Just as suddenly, he exhaled and let the anger dissipate. He felt his soul centre deeply into the currents of evening air, felt the pull of the soil beneath his feet, the spiral upward to the stars. In a split second, he was one with the Force around him and he let go, giving it control.

His body twisted upward and back and he straightened, the blue blade close enough to his Master's face to singe his beard. He blinked and deactivated it, speechless.

"Good. Very good." Qui-Gon's voice was soft.

Obi-Wan stared at him in shock. "I--I--"

Qui-Gon simply cocked his head to one side. "What?"

"I -- I could have killed you."

"Ya could have."

"But--" Obi-Wan looked down, then up in confusion. It was nearly dark now and he could just see the glint of reflected light in the whites of Qui-Gon 's eyes. "I was angry."

"But ya let it go."

"Yes."

The big hand lifted his chin. "Do ya understand? Do ye know who ya are, Obi-Wan Kenobi? "

He nodded, taking a long, shuddering breath and allowing his Master to pull him close. He leaned against the broad chest, inhaling the smell of the leather, of Qui-Gon's hair. He did know now, knew that he was much more than his Temple training had made him. He was a fighter within the Force, an agent of its will. He was the sum total of all his training, all his experience. Qui-Gon's arm tightened around him.

//Ya only needed to let go to see it.//

//I did?//

There was a deep rumble of laughter in his mind.

//And get angry enough. Don't let 'em fool ya with that. Anger has it 's uses, but only when ya let it go.//

"I'm cold." Obi-Wan shifted in his Master's arms, his back pressed against the broad chest, head resting back in the hollow of Qui-Gon's shoulder. He could feel his Master's breath warm in his hair.

"Then let's go inside. We're done wi' the poor pitiful padawan routine f'today?"

Obi-Wan elbowed him in the ribs with mock violence.

"Wretch!"

Qui-Gon laughed softly and kissed the top of his head.

"Good. I was wonderin' when ye'd stop actin' the slave."

"But Master, " Obi-Wan turned again to face Qui-Gon. "I am a slave. Remember."

Qui-Gon shrugged and tapped his forehead. "Only if ya think so."

Obi-Wan shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Why can't I get a simple answer out of you?" he complained, his lips twitching into a grin.

"Yer focus determines your reality." Qui-Gon grinned back down at him.

//You are hopeless!!//

Obi-Wan took a step away and looked at his Master's silhouette against the darkening sky. Qui-Gon's long hair was tangled and stirred untidily in the breeze.

"Well, if my focus determines my reality, my focus is telling me to really clean you up!"

Qui-Gon's teeth flashed into another grin. "What?" He pulled back in mild consternation. "Clean me up how?"

Obi-Wan took his hand and began to pull him up the path to the palace. "Just come with me. I'll show you what else I was trained to do!"


	10. Chapter 10

X

"Owww. Tha' hurts!!" Qui-Gon sputtered as Obi-Wan pushed him back under the spring to rinse his hair out again. The comb was slowly beginning to ease through the tangles.

"I've ordered us a proper Corellian meal. Mairteth will be disgusted. " Obi-Wan worried at another knot, trying to be gentle. "All seven courses. And I'm going to show you how to eat them. Properly."

Qui-Gon grimaced as Obi-Wan worked his way through the knotted hair. "I already know how t'eat!"

"With your fingers!" he retorted. "It's been making me nauseous for months." Force, but this ease with his Master felt good! He had never felt so relaxed and so right. That single moment when he had released all his anger to the winds was a shining light, a living, growing thing inside him now. Since then, Obi-Wan knew himself to be transformed. //Wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful.//

"Ouch. Wha' good is all that!"

"Swine. I'm going to civilize you if it kills me."

"Or me." Qui-Gon groaned.

Obi-Wan settled him on the broad seat at the edge of the tub and began to lather up his Master's face.

"What th'hell d'ya think yer doin'?" a growl from between froth-covered lips.

"Making you look like a humanoid instead of a Wookiee."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in concentration as he sawed away at the unruly mass of hair with a small scissors. The hanks of coarse, silvered hair floated away into the filter system. When he finished, he had trimmed it back to a neat, short beard. He finished with the razor under the strong chin, along the fine-planed cheeks, evening up the edges.

"Much better." He poked the hand-mirror at Qui-Gon, who quirked one eye brow at him.

"Take a look. You ARE human." he smiled.

Qui-Gon took the mirror and peered into it. He suppressed a smile. He did look better, much less like a wild man. He handed it back to Obi-Wan with a half-grin.

"This is gonna ruin me. I'm supposed t'be fright'nin.'"

Obi-Wan raised his head from his own bathing. "Then you can be frightening and neat. Why do you need to be scary?"

The damp red head bent forward again as he sluiced the water over his own soapy body. The movement was so unconscious, completely innocent and utterly sensual. Qui-Gon watched him, blue eyes beginning to burn.

"C'mere."

He leaned forward to capture the slender body, but Obi-Wan laughed and slithered out of his grasp.

"Let me finish!" he protested, but the green eyes were dancing provocatively. He turned deliberately, slowly, then glanced back over his shoulder with a grin.

"You could scrub my back." he breathed softly, the grin widening.

Qui-Gon plunged back into the tub and pulled him close, nuzzling a particularly sweet spot between Obi-Wan's throat and his shoulder.

"Ya're a tease from the bottom of hell." he murmured, lips travelling up the slim neck into the damp hair.

The boy turned in his arms, and their lips met, first softly, then with growing urgency. //No, Master. This is not the time for sweet and tender. I want you hard. Now. //

Obi-Wan's hands groped beneath the warm water, found their objective and reached lower. Qui-Gon sucked in a breath, sucked that skilled, pointed tongue into his mouth while the equally skilled hands fondled his balls, stroked him hard, the water eddying in magnifying waves around their bodies.

The Sith-spawned boy seemed to be everywhere at once, fingers grasping, pulling, pinching, petting. His tongue was a spear of moulten liquid in Qui-Gon's mouth, swirling around his teeth, beneath his own tongue. His fingers groped at one nipple, disappeared beneath the surface to grab hold of this cock, stroking upward, then diving beneath to tease the tender skin behind his balls. Qui-Gon groaned aloud into the kiss.

Obi-Wan broke away, his hands still roving under the water. "Sit on the edge of the tub." His voice was low.

"Wha?" His Master gasped, eyes glassy at his padawan's determined assault.

The green eyes were fixed on his, their expression feverish. One slim hand pushed him back to the edge and he hoisted himself up, lost in a haze. He had no wish to think, only to let Obi-Wan continue his fingering, sliding caresses.

Both hands trailed down his chest, fingers deft and silky against his nipples, then reaching behind to trace the indent just above his buttocks. Obi-Wan surged forward against him, lips soft and hot on his neck, tongue flicking out over his chest, moving lower and lower until he was captive in a prison of heat and wet.

That tongue. Oh ghods, that tongue. It was everywhere, around, below, teasing around the head of his cock, then lapping the shaft with broad strokes. And those hands never stopped moving, pinching a nipple, grasping his scrotum. Qui-Gon let his head fall back as Obi-Wan let his throat open and pulled himself closer, his hands clasped round his Master's waist.

His fingers shifted their grip to Qui-Gon's cheeks fiercely. He let the power sing through his body, constricting and relaxing the muscles in his throat in variable rhythms. His tongue teased the head, then consumed the whole feast in a frenzy of pulsing movements.

Qui-Gon's hands twisted in his wet hair. He heard the moans and permitted himself a ghost of a smile, then closed his eyes and concentrated on using every ability he had to please.

His Master was beginning to twitch, the fluid under his tongue salt sweetness. Qui-Gon groaned again, his hands tightening behind the boy's skull.

Another series of deep pulsing throbs from the hot sheathe of Obi-Wan's throat, another stroke of that tongue and Qui-Gon was yelling, yanking on the damp hair, pulling himself forward into the boy's sucking mouth. He felt as thought the top of his head was exploding as he emptied himself down that warm channel, spilling himself into its gripping, undulating curves.

For a long moment, Qui-Gon simply rocked forward, his eyes unfocused. Obi-Wan relaxed, continuing to lick and suckle the now-softening cock until he was felt his Master's pulse slowing to a less frantic pace. Then he swam backward, glittering green eyes fixed on his Master's.

"That's another thing I was trained to do." he practically purred.

Qui-Gon looked at him, panting. "Uh..."

Obi-Wan laughed and pulled himself up out of the tub. "C'mon." He bent to run wet fingertips along his Master's cheek. "The meal is coming and I have to show you how to eat Corellian clawbacks."


	11. Chapter 11

XI

He groaned, leaning forward to find the bucket, and retched into it despairingly. How could he still be this sick? He braced himself against the edge of the cot with one hand, struggling to hold his hair back with the other. Another wave of nausea rolled through him and he choked.

"All right, all right." His Master's hands held his head expertly. He was sure he had managed to heave up everything he'd eaten for the past month long ago.

"I'm dying!" he croaked.

"Ya're not dyin'!"

Obi-Wan fell back to the pillows weakly. He glared at Qui-Gon through very red and swollen eyes.

"It's horrible!"

"Ya'll get used to it."

Obi-Wan moaned.

They had left the small spaceport three days ago and, since then, his stomach had threatened to return home without him.

* * *

The "Syrene" was the most enchanting thing he had ever seen. Used to the big pleasure cruisers of the Senators, or the utilitarian barges and battleships always crowding Coruscant's port, Obi-Wan had been instantly captivated by his Master's strange craft.

The ship was small, holding only a crew of seven, its plating a deep bronze colour, rich in delicate chasework. The maneuvering sails of tensile-treated steel arched back from its bow like enormous bat wings, their gilded ribs gleaming in the harsh overhead lights of the hangar. There were small, oval portholes on the four decks, each shielded by opalescent plastisteel that reflected a rainbow of colours. He had been wide-eyed with delight to watch the pilot droid begin their take-off, the huge sails opening for flight like the wings of a great, fragile dragon.

The ship was far stronger than she appeared, and better-armed. All her gun turrets were hidden in the same elaborate scroll work that covered the outer hull. Obi-Wan had counted seventeen laser guns, three bays of photon blasts, and some other odd-looking spike rearing from the curved prow like a serpent's head.

The inside was equally quaint. The gun-decks and engine rooms were festooned with that beautiful curling decoration like ballrooms back at the Temple. Even the engine itself was glorious in its twisted, golden casing, from which the main power core rose like a shimmering fountain of light.

Their quarters were opulent, the bed glimmering in rich fabrics he had never seen in his Master's palace. Obi-Wan shook his head. The man was totally impossible!! //Fancy decking out a ship like this and living in such squalor at home!//

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan's enjoyment of the Syrene was short-lived. After prowling around the craft for a few hours, he began to feel distinctly unwell. Qui-Gon had disappeared up to the bridge and he had settled back into the big bed of their quarters to read when the first bad wave of nausea hit him.

Now he was in the small, stark sickbay, helpless in the grip of what he could only surmise was imminent death.

* * *

Qui-Gon simply laughed at him and brought him a glass of water.

"Drink it."

"It won't stay!" he moaned.

"It's only space sickness. Ya will live."

"Not that I want to." Obi-Wan muttered darkly.

But the water stayed down and he gazed out the porthole. "Where are we going?"

"Never mind."

Obi-Wan glowered at him, accepting the wet cloth and draping it over his forehead.

"This is not fun!" He rose up on one elbow. "And why do you always look like you want to say something to me, and stop."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "I do not." he said mildly and totally without conviction.

"You do too! " Obi-Wan retorted. "You do it all the time! You think I'm not looking at you and your whole face is a big question mark!"

Qui-Gon settled himself in a chair beside the cot. His lips quirked into a smile. "Is tha' any way for ya to talk to yer old Master?"

Obi-Wan smiled back. "Yes, when he teases me and takes me lightyears into space and doesn't tell me where we're going and always looks as though he is questioning me about something I don't know and no, you're not old.

Qui-Gon nodded silently with a sarcastic smirk.

His eyes drooped a little as his smile deepened. "Thank you for taking care of me. I think I feel a little better."

Qui-Gon reached up to stroke his hair back. "Ya sure? I can give you some---"

"NO!"

Obi-Wan had a horror of medicines, healers, surgeon-droids or anything else connected to the subject. The four required healer's visits each Standard cycle during his time at the Temple had always been a fight. As grateful as he'd shown himself for his sponsor's last gift, it had made him sick with terror to walk into the medical-droid's unit for those enhancements.

He shuddered and lay back. "I'll be all right now, I think."

Qui-Gon sat back and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Ya really want to know?"

"Which? Where we're going or the Unknown Question?" Obi-Wan murmured.

His Master laughed softly. "Ya may look exhausted and miserable and sick,but ya don't miss much."

The boy stuck his tongue out weakly. "Both!

"Well then, our course is set for Xaennon on Ceruspa. Nice little place." His laugh sounded ominously inward to Obi-Wan's ears. A sudden grin split his face. "Ya'll like it sure enough!"

"But," Qui-Gon continued, glancing out the window speculatively. "tha' could change too."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and sighed. "You never give a straight answer to anything, do you know that? You talk in riddles half the time!"

Qui-Gon eased back into his chair. "Then ya'll have to get good at riddles, won't ya?" His voice was mild, but Obi-Wan wasn't fooled at all. Not anymore.

//All right. An Adventure. Well, my whole life has been a big adventure since you, Master.//

"And the other?"

For a long moment, Qui-Gon simply look at him intently, long enough for Obi-Wan to have to force himself not to squirm. He continued to meet his Master's eyes evenly.

"What d'ya know about the Temple?"

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in surprise. Then he recalled the katas. Ancient warriors. He took a slow breath.

"Not very much. I thought it had always been there, the way it is."

"The buildings, some of 'em, are very old. Ya know that, don't ya?"

"Oh yes!" Obi-Wan brightened. "The oldest tower is the shortest, but has the prettiest viewing garden in the whole complex."

"Well, those were the Old Temple. A long time ago."

"How long" Obi-Wan demanded: he hated stories without details. He wriggled back against the pillows, his tender stomach forgotten in the promise of one of his Master's tales.

"Almost a thousand years. It was a different place then. And the Jedi were a bit different than wha' you know."

The boy nodded, his eyes clear for the first time in three days.

"They were Knights, Warriors, who traveled the galaxy empowered by the New Republic, after the Empire crumbled. They were needed to do some hard things. Hells, they' d been doin' em for nearly a thousand years after the Sith Wars."

Obi-Wan's eyes were enormous. "What's a Sith?"

He grinned at Obi-Wan. "That's another story."

He leaned back in the chair, stretching out his long legs. "Anyway, they were used for stoppin' rebellions on Republican planets, disputes over trade rights, general order-keepin'. "

Qui-Gon's eyes had gone dreamily inward as he warmed to his story. "All were Force-sensitives, trained the way I'm trainin' you. But harder, much much harder, at least at the beginnin', so I was told. They were a tough lot that got too tough and too big. Too many of 'em. By the time I'm talkin' about, there were thousands upon thousands of 'em, all armed to the teeth an' they scared the bloody hell out of the Senate. "

"Why was the Senate scared? Were they bad?"

"Nah, not really. Generally, they did what they were supposed t'do well. But between the Senate worryin' about a giant independent army right in the capital itself, and their own way o' making rituals out of everything, they made themselves a bad bed to sleep in. Somewhere in there, they stopped bein' tough. They were playin' at back door politics and got lulled by their own sense of...I don't know, pride maybe. Or arrogance that can't look itself in the face. It wasn't the first time tha' happened." Qui-Gon shook his head.

"Bloody idiots! During the Marigenata Wars, they tried to overthrow the recognized government of Remwara. And lost. Bad move. The Council scrambled and ended up signin' a dangerous deal: those who were in the war were given leave to commit suicide or be executed; the others were disarmed. Those who argued the treaty were threatened with permanent Force-damping." He sighed deeply.

"In the end, most signed. Some were killed or worse."

Obi-Wan hugged his knees, his eyes wide. "But if they were good?" // It doesn't make sense!//

Qui-Gon smiled. " It was a trick, a calculated move to discredit the fools. Y'see that war ended the New Republic and created the one we've got now. The Republican Alliance." His face darkened. " The Alliance Forces polished off most o' the population of Remwara, just f'good measure. And the story goes that the Republican Alliance wasn't an Alliance at all. It was one person."

Qui-Gon's expression had become grim. "One of the Senior members of the Jedi High Council decided he'd rather be an emperor than a monk, cos' that's what the once-mighty warriors had become. Idiots obsessed with aesthetics. But th' tricky bastard knew better than to take the title. So he created the Alliance, bought the Senate, and disarmed the Jedi. "

He heaved another long sigh. "The worst part of it, is no one knows who he was, so the legend goes. Like a bloody ghost, he was there, then he wasn't. His name simply got lost in history. Don't ask me how, but it did."

"That was, oh, some five hundred years back. Politics kept its usual course." he grinned briefly. "It's always who can get wha' for how much anyway. But the Jedi were not th' same anymore. They weren't trusted and didna trust themselves."

He looked at Obi-Wan quietly."I imagine the Temple you know developed in time. More aesthetics!"

Obi-Wan's chin set stubbornly and he stared down at his knees. He loved his Master's stories, but really disliked it when they got personal. It was too much like another lesson. Qui-Gon's eyes softened and he tipped the pouting face back up. "Don't get silly on me, boy."

"Well, I don't see why you can't be a warrior and have some manners!" Obi-Wan muttered. Then he grinned. "I bet you made all that up! Just so you can eat with your hands. And I still want to know what a Sith is!"

Qui-Gon reached over and smacked his thigh. "You are gettin' t'be a mouthy brat."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Yes Master."

"Now try t'get some sleep. Please." It wasn't really a question: Obi-Wan knew that tone.

He rolled over obediently, sighing another "Y-s, Mmstr" in the pillow and soon found himself on a paper dragon of dreams, flying over Coruscant's towers amid thousands of faceless ancient Jedi armed with golden lightsabres and carrying lacquered teatrays. More than once, he giggled in his sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

XII

Obi-Wan woke to a rather rough shaking. His eyes opened clearly for the first time in days to see his Master leaning over him with his usual sarcastic grin.

"Get up, boy!! Ya been sleepin' like the bloody dead!"

"Mmmmmm..." He stretched languidly and smiled. "You should have tried to wake me with a kiss."

A light clip to the ear made him sit up.

"I know tha' one. And I do na think I qualify for Prince Charming."

Obi-Wan yawned. "True. More like the Ogre...."

Their eyes met and they both exclaimed together "But that's another story."

It was wonderful to wake to laughter. Obi-Wan loved his Master's laugh. It was deep, rich, coming straight from his gut. Had he been able to hear himself, he would have realized that roar had changed his from a timid giggle to an genuine, open-hearted laugh that made his eyes dance and his face irresistible.

Qui-Gon scooped him out of the bed, covers and all and whirled around in a tight circle, still laughing, while Obi-Wan beat against his back, struggling to talk and laugh at the same time.

"Stop it!!! You'll make me dizzy!!"

He was silenced by a kiss and dropped back on the bed in an unceremonious heap.

"We've docked. And ya've been asleep for nearly a full day! Now up, and get dressed. I laid 'em out for ya. "

Obi-Wan bounded out of bed. "Are we going to see the city?" He went to rummage in the wardrobe, but his Master took him by the shoulders and turned him to the chair.

On it lay one of his best seryth-silk robes with all its accoutrements. For a long moment, he simply stared at it, then he rolled his eyes and looked at his Master with a smirk.

"Sure." he turned back to the wardrobe.

"I'm na kiddin' ya."

Obi-Wan turned to him, eyes wide. "Why in hells would you want me to wear that!?"

His Master simply chuckled and shifted his weight from one hip to the other.Obi-Wan realized he was decently dressed for once. //Well, as decent as I believe he'll ever get!!//

The usual rough tunics and leggings, or worse, the leather jerkins and thigh-high riding boots, had been replaced by a slashed tunic in midnight blue velvet over one of some filmy fabric that billowed to his wrists. The leggings were simple, black; the boots of some polished hide, cuffed above his knees. It looked oddly barbaric and elegant at the same time.

Obi-Wan also noticed a barely perceptible series of bulges beneath the wide sash and near the tops of each boot, not to mention the obvious blaster strapped to his right thigh and he cocked his head to one side.

"Master?"

Qui-Gon eyed him quietly. "Yes."

"You wouldn't use a blaster on a thousand-credit bet."

His Master simply smiled inscrutably and leaned back against the scrolled bulwark.

"Just get dressed. We've got a dinner with the Governor of Xaennon. He spent a fair amount o'time on the Inner Rim."

His smiled widened wickedly. "Ya might even know him."

Obi-Wan threw a pillow at his back as he disappeared through the door. Then he turned to survey the complicated series of under robes with a sigh. He'd gotten so used to the freedom of his simple clothing. For a moment,he put his hand to his cheek in dismay, racking his memory for the proper order. A long sigh, and it came back to him. He began to dress methodically.

By the time he had the elaborate, wide-sleeved outer robe tied by its sash, he was cursing fluently in at least twelve languages. //All hells and back!! I never realized this was so--so--bloody --Ahhh!! Force!! Hells!! Fuck!! Bedamned!!//

Finally finished with the complex ties that fastened it all, he turned to the small dressing table and realized his Master had set out a good array of his cosmetics. Obi-Wan just shook his head and sat down to brush out his hair and rebraid his plait. He knew he shouldn't wonder anymore how his Master got his information. Picking up a pencil, he began on his eyes. After poking himself once, and having all his work run down his tearing face, he was ready to spit like a cat . He washed his face and tried again.

//C'mon Kenobi. It's not that hard!! You've done this for years!! //

Qui-Gon poked his head inside just as he slipped on the sandals, and simply stared. He had never once, in all these months, seen Obi-Wan in full regalia. It was impressive, or, at least, would have been, had he not taken one step and nearly tripped over the trailing robes. Another stream of curses and Qui-Gon could not repress a laugh.

Obi-Wan glared at him. "This is all your fault!!"

His Master took pity on him and offered his arm for support until Obi-Wan could relearn how to walk as they headed to their shuttle.

* * *

Qui-Gon had been right: Obi-Wan did like Xaennon. It was not much like Coruscant, but reminded him of the summer Temple, on its outskirts. The streets were broad and lined with deep-eaved houses and shops. Obviously, they were heading to the Governor's palace and were in the best area of the city: it was very charming and quiet.

The Governor's home was not a palace at all, but a villa with a wonderful view from the approach over its sloping roof to cool forest and mountain. He sighed, for it brought back so many memories so quickly. Instinctively, his posture became a little more fluid, his feet remembering how to make his body glide in the high-soled sandals. This was not lost on Qui-Gon, who still had his elbow and felt the change of motion immediately.

The Governor proved to be unknown, much to Obi-Wan's relief, but he knew the type very well. Somehow, he slipped back to Temple padawan with ease, his voice softening in light small-talk, his serving skills at the intimate dinner poised and unobtrusive. Govenor ??? Merck was a small man with elegant manners, a pointed face and very dark eyes against his pale bluish skin. He had clearly spent most of his time in either Coruscant or perhaps Alaeda.

Offering the dessert wafers, Obi-Wan repeated a little pun in Alaedana and the Govenor laughed heartily. // OK. Now you know where. I wonder how he ended up here? //

His Master's voice rumbled in his head, //Because he's a gambler and he cheats.//

Obi-Wan allowed himself to look up into Qui-Gon's eyes innocently.

To his surprise, Qui-Gon handled himself quite well. At least he didn't forget which utensils to use, until the second course with its elaborate sticks. Without words, Obi-Wan felt the minor surge of panic.

//Thumb and fourth finger, Master.//

He was rewarded with a tiny smile and an arched eyebrow. //Thank you, Padawan.//

Obi-Wan glared momentarily under his lashes. Why did his Master sometimes manage to make that word sound so---dirty! He continued his steady chatter, keeping the Governor talking about himself. //Everyone's favourite subject!!// Meanwhile, he indulged himself in a brief daydream of emptying the teapot over his Master's head.

He nearly spit when he was rewarded by a Force-slap on the back.

Gritting his teeth, he turned to smile sweetly at the Governor and leaned a little closer to the small politician.

To his disappointment, Qui-Gon only looked down at him impassively. He rarely spoke during the meal, and when he did, it was only to the Governor.Obi-Wan was sure that they knew each other and that this was not a simple social call.

He telegraphed his Master // ?? //

// I need his help for some trade. He likes ya.// There was a pause, then// Obi-Wan? //

// Yes Master?//

//Don't get carried away.//

Obi-Wan resumed his airy flirtation with an inward groan. He remembered he was an ornament: a prize to show off, to attract envy, possibly to dangle as a carrot. He was by no means so naive not to think that his functions included much more than warming his Master's bed. But he really would have preferred a training session and perhaps a swim in the lake. Besides, his knees were getting stiff from the unaccustomed position and it all seemed rather trivial. A part of him was laughing at himself, while horrified that he was thinking in such a fashion.

After the meal, the Governor escorted them around the lovely garden to watch the twilight, until he and Qui-Gon stopped to talk of some cargo shipment.

Obi-Wan had been so glad of the break in making subtly coy conversation and getting not-so-subtly pawed under his sleeve that he let his thoughts drift and was surprised when Qui-Gon suggested the Govenor come to the shuttle to see a sample. He didn't remember any sample of anything. Or any cargo.

// Stow the panic, boy.// a very low warning.

Obi-Wan covered a grimace with his hand, then slipped it through the Governor's arm again. His heart was racing.

Their shuttle was not far, and they boarded without incident, until Qui-Gon slammed the blast doors shut and pressed the ignition.

Meryck yelped, "What in hells do you think you're doing!!?"

Qui-Gon lounged back against the door with an easy smile. "There's a matter o' some 4,000,000 credits. That's what I'm doin'."

"Are you mad?! I'll have an army after you, Jinn!! I swear you won't get away with this!!"

Qui-Gon shrugged expressively, turning to guide the shuttle to the dock.

"Ya really think I've forgotten tha' phony transport company scandal from last year? Or the embezzlement charges I paid to have dropped the year before? More to the point, how about that spice run you had me do for ya'? I'm na so sure your adorin' people would be in a hurry to know all that, do you?"

He turned briefly from the controls with a smile. "So sit back and shut up."

He pulled up to the Syrene with ease. "Besides, they'll pay a nice ransom and I'll cut ya in, as always. One of those fancy casinos makes that much in six months."

The Governor's face had gone a stale shade of grey. "I'll--I'll--"

Qui-Gon shut down the engine. "Ya'll take it. Like ya always do. Now move and don't do anythin' stupid."

A short walk through the docking tube and they were safely aboard the Syrene.

Obi-Wan never realized he'd been clutching the Governor's arm, nearly as frightened as the man himself. He didn't know this person. The voice was his Master's. Certainly the body was his, but the face was a stranger's,with eyes that bored like blue lasers, where there was no emotion at all in their depths. He gulped, his mouth half-open when Meryck's arm suddenly arched around his throat, the other hand holding a small blaster.

"I'll kill him, Jinn. I swear I will."

Qui-Gon turned, shaking his head with a short laugh. "Oh, I doubt tha'"

Time seemed to have frozen for Obi-Wan. His Master was striding up to the bridge, apparently unconcerned that this weasel had a blaster at his temple.His mind surged with panic for a moment, then he relaxed back against Meryck, consciously making his shoulders tremble. The Governor's grip shifted to his hair as he shouted after Qui-Gon almost incoherently.

Obi-Wan's right arm shot up to slam against Meryck's head as his left elbowed him hard in the ribs, his left hand gesturing the blaster across the deck. He Force-shoved the man back against the bulwark and turned around swiftly.

"And I thought we were friends!" He chided lightly as he pulled the blaster to him and spun up the corridor in a swirl of silk.

"Now come to the Commons and behave yourself."

The Governor gaped for a moment, then followed the sibilant trail to the Common lounge in silence.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII

Obi-Wan had a drink set before Meryck at the sumptuous table in the Commons and regarded him gravely. It took every bit of self-control he possessed not to Force-choke the politician.

Meryck glared at him. "And do you know the penalty for a slave to strike a free man?"

"Perhaps on the Inner Rim. Here, I daresay it doesn't matter quite so much. Besides, I am my Master's property and worth more than your whole city. If you had killed me, I don't think you'd be breathing right now." His voice was even, soft and without malice.

"You'd no right to fight back."

Obi-Wan simply looked at him in silence. He went to the sideboard along the scrolled bulwark and brought a tray of small delicacies to the table.

"Nothing's poisoned. I made this for my Master. "

Meryck stared at him, clearly unconvinced. Obi-Wan shrugged, ate one, and smiled.

"I'm leaving you for the moment. I think you'll be comfortable. There's wine here on the table and spirits in the sideboard."

He moved gracefully to the door, then turned.

"The door's palm-locked, so don't bother."

Once outside and having locked the door, he started to run up the corridor.He paused to kick off the sandals, yanked the train of silk up, and stormed into the bridge, trembling with anger.

"You USED me!!!" he shouted.

Qui-Gon was seated before the console, his palms resting in shallow depressions of its gilded, serpentine surface. There were no other instruments except the viewscreens showing all angles outside. He didn't turn around.

"In more ways than one!" he chuckled.

"You bastard!!! Do you know what you've done? Now I'm a criminal!! Anywhere else it would take days for me to die."

"Better a criminal than a---"

Obi-Wan spun the chair around, white-faced with fury.

"Don't you dare!! Don't you dare say it, you -- you-- you left me there!!!" he wailed. "You bloody left me!!"

His voice was beginning to rise hysterically and Qui-Gon stood up abruptly, and backhanded him to the deck.

Obi-Wan stared up at him, one hand pressed to his bruised face in shock. He'd received a knock on the head to bring him to attention in meditations, the occasional blow while sparring, but never, never had Qui-Gon struck him in anger.

Qui-Gon's voice was harsh. "Don't YOU dare. I've no time for any o' this shite! I've a ship to pilot and ya didna need me there."

Obi-Wan glared at him, the trailing layers of silk riding up around his legs like ribbons around a maypole. His shoulders were heaving, his eyes glittery.

His Master looked down at him for a long moment, then grabbed his arm and yanked him up into his arms. His eyes tore into the boy's, dilated nearly black, hot as lava.

Obi-Wan's whole body melted into the embrace, his hands twisting in his Master's hair, lips claimed in a devouring kiss. Whatever anger he had felt transformed itself into quite another kind of heat. Tongue on tongue, he pushed forward tasting Qui-Gon's mouth, opening his own. For something of an eternity, they dueled, each attacking, then retreating in an oral dance of desire.

Then his head fell back against his Master's shoulder, dizzy and lightheaded.

Qui-Gon smiled down at him. "First case o' battle-lust?"

Obi-Wan punched his arm lightly and leaned against his chest, sighing, "You bastard!"

Qui-Gon sat back down pulling the boy onto his lap.

"Ya know, its a good thing I'm only orbiting. Ya're a damned distraction in here!"

Obi-Wan sat up on his Master's knees and regarded the console. "Well, show me. How does it work? I've never seen a panel like this!"

"Ya've never seen a panel at all!" Qui-Gon murmured.

"Yes I have!" the boy retorted. "I was in plenty of pleasure cruisers! " He ducked his head against his Master neck. "I used to sneak into the bridge if I could. There were always so many switches and buttons and knobs."

Qui-Gon laughed softly. "Well, none o' those fools could pilot this craft. She's my own design and ya see all that decoration?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"It's all made of cerusin. It's a metal but it's sentient, Force-sensitive, in its own way. Only someone like us could pilot her."

"You mean with our abilities?"

"Aye, and they'd need a bit o' trainin', too."

"So the rest of the crew? I saw no one."

"I need no one. Syrene's quick enough to take care o' herself. To a point, tha' is."

The comlink interrupted him in a distinctly feminine voice. "Port bow, Dulaan. Shuttle craft approaching."

Qui-Gon's left hand reached around Obi-Wan's waist for the depression on the console. "Aye, I see it. Armed?"

Obi-Wan watched in fascination as it rippled to curve around the shape of his hand exactly.

"No, Dulaan."

"All right. Carry on. I won't be long. And thank you." As he lifted his hand from the depression, it smoothed out completely.

Obi-Wan giggled as he stood up. "You thank the ship?"

His Master looked down at him for a moment. "Don't ya say please and thankee?"

"Oh." A bit bemused, he followed Qui-Gon out of the bridge, struggling with the material that swirled around his feet. He paused to retrieve his sandals as his Master opened the Commons door.

"Obi-Wan, ya keep our guest company. I won't be long."

Pouting a little, Obi-Wan turned and walked reluctantly to the Commons. He had no desire to see or hear Meryck again in this lifetime or his next. Sighing, he opened the door and went to the sideboard, looking down at his hands.

Without turning, he asked, "Can I get you anything else?"

Meryck watched him with sharp eyes. "Yes, " he said, his voice silky. "I'm sorry about before. Jinn is, well, unpredictable at best. He surprised me." He shifted on the lounge. "Come over here and have a glass of wine."

Obi-Wan walked over but kept his head down, acutely aware of the bruise on his left cheek. He poured the politician a glass of wine, declining one himself, and sat down, his face still averted.

The Governor's hand reached out and turned him gently. "Poor little thing. You must have trouble with him."

Obi-Wan kept staring at the edge of his own sash. "It's nothing." he murmured.

Meryck's smiled and lifted his face. "You know, you're too pretty by far." His fingers traced the bruise. "But I suppose you're used to it."

Obi-Wan's chin set mulishly and he raised his head. "No, I'm not."

Meryck's eyes were sympathetic to the 'lie'. "It's all right, child. Now, if all this goes well, I could---" He moved closer, his arm snaking around the boy's shoulders.

Obi-Wan drew back sharply. "I think not." His voice was icy.

"Don't be such a little fool!! He mistreats you, puts you in grave danger. You seem to be a sweet little thing. Why don't you let me take you away from this? It can't be that difficult a decision." He was playing idly with the heavy padawan plait hanging over Obi-Wan's shoulder.

The boy twitched it out of his hand, drawing himself up. "Do you know what this is?" he flicked at the thick braid.

Meryck shrugged. "Some pleasure boy hairdo?"

The slap resounded in the Commons like a shot.

Obi-Wan was on his feet, his eyes hot with anger. "It means I'm a Jedi Temple padawan, that's what it means. How dare you!!"

The Governor faced him with a sneer. "Jinn with a padawan!!? I doubt that very much!! You're just another little imposter he---"

Obi-Wan didn't waste another word. In a rustling swirl of silk, he strode to the door, just as it opened for him to face his Master.

"I thought I told ya--"

The boy held up one imperious hand. "I suggest you attend to your company, Master. I'll be in our quarters."

Head held high, he swept past Qui-Gon and down the corridor to their room.

Once there, he closed and locked the door. Then he went to the wardrobe to retrieve his regular clothes. For a long long time, he sat staring at the mirror, the simple clothing in his lap, studying his own reflection with increasing agitation.

Suddenly, he stood up and proceeded to tear the robes off of his body, one at a time until they lay in a shredded pile at his feet. If he had had access to the airlock, they would have been flying into space. As it was, he left them on the floor and threw himself on the bed, dry-eyed and miserable.

Once, he'd known exactly who and what he was; what he had been since he was two years old. He had been proud of his accomplishments, his beauty, his desirability. Now, despite that moment by the lake a month ago, he felt entirely adrift. He didn't know what he was anymore. Worse, evidently neither did anyone else.

His Master didn't value his padawan status except as a dupe to lure his victims, so much so that his own veracity was doubted. This conflict was taking every bit of pride he'd ever felt and making it dust in his mouth.He wished he could cry, but he was far too unhappy. So he simply stared at the porthole, watching the stars and wondering if he would ever know what it felt to be whole again.


	14. Chapter 14

XIV

He saw the shuttle pull away, heard the engine begin to hum, watched the stars drift to streaks of light as they shifted to hyperdrive. His Master would be settled in the big chair, his hands pressed into the console, more communing with his ship than piloting her. Devoutly, he wished he could have such a link with anyone who could understand him. He thought he had figured this out until he realized just how little Qui-Gon cared that he was a padawan. He had brought everything he was to the relationship, but it meant nothing. His pride, his skill, his very self....it all meant nothing. The only things that seemed to matter to his Master were the endless drills and meditations and whatever other archaic nonsense he taught. All a lie.

He was still staring out the porthole when Qui-Gon entered the chamber.

"Tha' went well."

He stopped, looking down at the destroyed clothing at his feet, its torn shreds piled atop the boy's regular tunics and leggings. Obi-Wan hadn't moved or turned to look at him. He sat down on the bed and reached out to touch the slender shoulder. There was no response.

"Stop sulkin'"

Obi-Wan never moved.

"All right, boy. Wha's the matter?"

"He didn't believe me." It was a whisper of pain.

"Didna believe wha'?"

Obi-Wan flipped the braid across his neck to hang over his left shoulder across his back.

"Oh, tha'" Qui-Gon was silent for a moment. "Obi-Wan?"

Again, there was no answer.

Qui-Gon sighed. "He's a fool. Why do ya say he didna believe ya?

Obi-Wan turned slowly, but refused to look at his Master. "He called it a 'pleasure boy hairdo'. And treated me like one. Not that you'd care anyway."

"Why do ya say that?"

"You don't. It doesn't matter to you. All you care about is...oh, just leave me alone!"

Qui-Gon grabbed both slim arms and gave him a little shake. "Why do ya say that!!?" he repeated, his voice a little harder.

Obi-Wan looked at him, his eyes gone grey and cold and lost. "I heard you, you know. In the tower room a month ago. You called me a glorified bedslave."

His Master sighed deeply. " I know ya heard. Why do ya think I came after ya by the lake?"

"I don't have any idea." The boy's voice was bitter. "Why bother with a padawan? You could have had your drill-time fun with some brothel boy." He smiled coldly. "Most are not as dumb as they act. It would have been considerably cheaper. And it wouldn't have hurt them to be called a liar."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "You little fool!! I wanted you because you're a padawan."

"Right." Obi-Wan's ruddy head dropped again. "Sure you did. That's why all you've done all these months is make me feel as though I had something to be ashamed of, as though I were dirt under your feet. A toy to retrain. Thank you very much, Master. It's so delightful to be valued!" His voice was soft with scorn.

Qui-Gon pulled him close and he didn't resist, nor did he respond. He simply allowed himself to be held. The long silvering hair spilled over his bowed head, tickling his bare shoulders. Then he felt Qui-Gon's chin resting gently atop his head.

"Oh, Obi-Wan!" he whispered, unmistakable pain in his voice. "My Obi-Wan, can ya not trust me a little while longer?"

The boy's head shook slightly. "How, Master? How can I trust you when I don't understand why you ever wanted me in the first place?" He sighed and remained as still as a statue for a long time.

Slowly, Obi-Wan pulled away and looked up, his face very small and white except for the purpling bruise on his cheek. "Please tell me, Master. Tell me something! Anything at all. I feel so---" he turned his head and glanced out the window at the racing, streaking stars. "So lost."

Qui-Gon bit his lip. His eyes closed, brow furrowed. "I canna tell you everything, love. But I can tell ya that I wanted you. Not just because ya're a padawan. Tha' was very important. Very. But I wanted you, Obi-Wan. I saw ya and I wanted you. "

The boy smiled tremulously. "All from one holo-vid auction?"

The broad chest heaved in a long sigh. "No. I'd seen ya before. On Coruscant. A few times in fact."

Obi-Wan's eyes clouded with confusion. "On Coruscant!!? Coruscant!!! When were you on Coruscant?!"

"I was there six months before the bloody auction. And a month before. I'd seen ya in the Pavilion Gardens first. Ah damn it, I canna explain to ya now. " He grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulders hard. "You've got t'believe me, boy. I canna tell you why, don't ask. But I found you."

Obi-Wan shook his head wearily. "Oh, all right. I won't ask. I'm yours anyway." He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "Keep your secrets, Master. I won't ask again."

Qui-Gon rose, his hands clenched into fists. For a few minutes, he paced around the small room like a caged animal. Obi-Wan stared listlessly at his bare toes, listening to the sound of his Master's footfalls.

Finally, Qui-Gon stopped and lifted the boy's head with a firm hand. "Work it out for y'self, lad!" he rasped. "What's the common denominator? What does a padawan have tha' my teachin' requires?" The blue eyes were intent.

Obi-Wan blinked, a small line creasing between his brows. "The Force."

"Right. So why's it such a mystery?"

"But you never wanted anything I was taught!"

//Oh I didna?// a low chuckle.

Obi-Wan glared at him. "I meant anything other than that!"

Qui-Gon shook his head and pulled the boy up into his arms. "And who taught me how t'eat properly? Who got Mairteth to stop burnin' every last morsel i' the house? Who's taught who, Obi-Wan?"

His shining head cocked to one side, he considered his Master's words. "I guess I never thought of it." he said slowly. Even as he said it, he remembered Kal's words: //'Teach him. But never let him know'.//

//Don't be ridiculous, lad!! Of course I knew. And wanted it. Why else would ya be with me?//

"So does that mean the only things you want from my training is table manners and a good cook?" his face was serious but his eyes had begun to dance.

"Brat!!" Qui-Gon smacked his bottom.

"Or was that a good cock?" a murmur of a sound.

//I don't believe it!! Did ya really just say that out loud?//

Obi-Wan's eyes were glowing green coals in the white fire of of his face. Qui-Gon touched his cheek gently.

"I'm sorry about that. I've a nasty temper."

He laughed softly. // Did you really just say that?//

Qui-Gon threw himself down on the bed and grabbed the boy close. "You are such a bloody brat! But you taste too good---" and all speech was drowning against Obi-Wan's parted lips.

He let his Master kiss him, exploring with quick strokes of his tongue,his mouth a sweet source of passive heat. The kiss became more insistent, the tongue demanding response and still he waited, allowing the melting heat to build in the swirl of wet warmth that pierced his lips. Finally, slow and tentative, his tongue snaked around his Master's, heat upon heat, caressing lips and teeth with quick, feathery touches, as his hands twined around the broad shoulders.

The comlink interrupted, Syrene's metallic voice echoing slightly. "Dulaan? I sense agitation."

Qui-Gon broke free enough to raise his head. "Um...everything is fine, darlin'. "

Obi-Wan's tongue lapped at his earlobe.

//Agitation? That's a new word for it!!//

Qui-Gon pulled him atop his tall body, resuming their kiss with enthusiasm. //Shhhh....she gets a bit...jealous.//

Obi-Wan's shoulders shook a little with laughter until Qui-Gon silenced the giggle, his blunt fingertips crushing one rosebud nipple hard. The boy moaned and writhed above him, warm lips dancing along his jaw down into the hollow of his throat.

Their hips were moving together, hardness pressed to hardness, hands beginning to wander under one another's clothing.

"Tha' feels so good!" Qui-Gon muttered into the boy's hair as Obi-Wan's fingers reached beneath his leggings to tease along the crease of his thighs. Light caresses fluttered between their bodies, Qui-Gon's hands on the rounded buttocks, Obi-Wan's lips glued to his, mouths open and pouring into one another. The heat around them was palpable, a living thing that shimmered as they dove together, lost in one another's bodies.

"Dulaan, we have a problem."

Qui-Gon heard the comlink and ignored it, his tongue delving deep into Obi-Wan's mouth.

"Dulaan, we are out of hyperdrive."

The nectar sweetness of that mouth was intoxicating. He grunted at the voice, his lips too occupied for thought.

"Dulaan, we are---"

A great rocking nearly sent Obi-Wan flying off him. He sat up abruptly, his hand immediately reaching for the scrolled bulwark behind him.

"Syrene, wha' was that!!"

"Dulaan, we are being fired upon. Port bow, two ships. Photon blasts. Shields are damaged."

Qui-Gon bounded to his feet. "I'm on my way to th' bridge." His eyes met Obi-Wan's briefly. "Get dressed. There may be trouble."

He disappeared through the door at a dead run.


	15. Chapter 15

XV

Obi-Wan sat up, his eyes huge as another jolt rocked the small craft. His mouth was suddenly very dry, and his hands shook as he yanked on his leggings and tunic, ignoring the ripped streamers of his silken robes that clung to the rough fabric and dangled from his elbow and down his back. He shrank back against the bulwark as he heard the port side lasers firing with low humming noises. He suddenly felt very small and very much alone.

Guided by some unknown instinct, he rummaged in the drawer for his lightsabre, clipped it to his belt and fled to the bridge. At least there, he would feel safe with his Master.

Running lightly up the corridor, he heard a blaster shot and felt a whirring past his right ear. He whirled around to see two seven-foot G'dlackian raiders closing in on him fast.

Terror moved his feet more than anything else. He simply ran, instinct propelling him forward at inhuman speed. He was a blur as he reached the bridge doors, slammed into them hard enough to make his head spin.

"Master!!! Open the door!!" he moaned against it, hearing the heavy footfalls approaching. // MASTER!! //

It wasn't fast enough. One of the raiders was raising his blaster. Obi-Wan froze, his mouth open in a silent scream. His eyes closed, waiting breathlessly. Then the red wall of his eyelids faded to tendrils of blue and green and silver. In a eternal moment, he melted into the Force that swirled around him like waves. His right hand moved of its own accord to grasp his sabre. He felt as though he were moving through water, each muscle a separate reality of its own. He heard the blast, felt his arms moving, his body spinning in the arc of the seventh kata. The hum of the glowing sabre was a melody, his body the instrument, all flowing into the churning ocean of the Force surrounding him.

Then there was silence. Cautiously, Obi-Wan opened his eyes. The silvered tendrils of visible power faded from his dazed vision slowly. One of the raiders had slumped against the bulwark, the deflected blaster shot a smoking hole in his chest. The other lay, headless, at the boy's feet.

Obi-Wan choked, gagging at the cauterized neck. The raider's head was some four feet away, eyes still blinking in shock. The lips were moving.

His face drained of all colour and he sagged back against the door, then turned and began to bang on in furiously.

"OPEN IT!! OPENITOPENIT!!!!!" he was screaming, dancing backwards from the truncated corpse at his feet, pressing himself to the unyielding metal.

When it opened, he fell into the bridge and crawled toward the console, his whole body a live wire of panic.

// Obi, stop it. Ya canna lose it now! I canna help ya! //

"Master?" he reached out, his vision narrowing, spots of blackness dancing before his eyes.

Qui-Gon's face was utterly still in concentration. He laid his left hand in another depression of the console and the tall spire atop the Syrene turned to focus on the ship that had moved starboard. He took a long breath, closed his eyes and sank himself deeply into the Living Force.

Shaking like an autumn leaf in a gale, Obi-Wan looked up from the deck to see the power visible around his Master, the swirling wash of silver and green making the tall body indistinct as Qui-Gon gathered the Force within him. His left arm seemed a glowing shaft of light as he focused it through himself, through the Syrene, up to the crystal embedded in the spire. A shimmering bolt of pure Force energy poured from it to surround the attacking ship. Obi-Wan's eyes darted to the view screen, watched the searing light dancing around the raider ship. For a frozen moment, it wavered, flickering in endless movement, then blinked out of existence.

Qui-Gon sagged forward in the chair, his head drooping as the visible Force diffused around him and disappeared. Without stopping for rest, he reached his right hand down to its place on the console to activate the photon blasts aimed for the other ship. Obi-Wan could see how it shook with the effort of movement.

There were blasts from the corridor, pounding on the bridge doors.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon's voice was a whisper, threaded with exhaustion.

// Yes, Master? // The boy's mouth was too dry for speech.

"Can ya cover the doors? They're usin' a boarding beam. I've got to get that other ship."

// Master no!! You'll kill yourself! //

"Just hold them off for a moment. Syrene'll help ya."

The ship's mechanical voice echoed in the small chamber. "Dulaan, shield are low. More boarders. "

"Where?" Qui-Gon's voice was harsh.

"Engineering deck and here."

"Cut air from Engineering and seal the doors."

"Calynide gas, Dulaan?"

"Yes, yes. Just get rid of =91em!" Qui-Gon was fighting exhaustion, his vision wavering as he struggled to get off a few good shots at the remaining ship. He cursed himself for a fool to have ventured this alone. Even one trained crew member would have helped.

Obi-Wan had risen to stand on shaky legs, his eyes glued to the doors. He struggled to remember his training, the katas, the movements, the meditations. But all he could do was watch those doors, hardly daring to breathe.

// Obi-Wan, relax. Let it flow through you. Don't fight. Be. // Even Qui-Gon's mental voice was rasping with weariness.

Slowly, Obi-Wan moved forward and to one side. If blaster shots came through those doors, he would draw them to himself, rather than risk them hitting his Master. He activated his sabre and closed his eyes.

He felt the doors open before he heard their slight whisper and his body exploded into motion, a whirling arc of blazing blue light. He sensed bolts rather than saw them, knew where they would fall and deflected them. A hissing to his left told him he'd missed one, that the delicate scroll work was damaged. He spared it a glance and barely registered that the metal seemed to melt and twist to repair itself. His body was tiring, and he knew he had to do something, anything.

He had never sparred aggressively. Always, his actions had been dictated by his Master's attacks. He wasn't sure he could attack. He could only try.

A microsecond to collect himself, then he whirled into the offensive, his sabre a blurred pinwheel of blue light flashing forward as he surged against the grouped raiders blocking the doorway. He closed his eyes, letting himself see with the Force and danced on the edge of a precipice of death. He stopped trying and simply spun with the motion of the bodies around him.He felt the blaster bolts that whizzed past him, felt the jar through his sabre as he deflected others, felt the slowed hum as it cut through flesh. There was no emotion, no feeling, only the reality of the Force and its movement through his exhausted limbs.

Again, silence descended like a shroud over him. Panting, he stood trembling with the buzz of the lightsabre in his hand. A flash of pain in his left leg made him wince, and he looked down to see the tear in his leggings, blood running down his calf to pool around his bare foot. Half a dozen raiders littered the corridor, most dead, some dying. Ignoring them, he forced himself to walk back into the bridge. The hot flow of his own blood was warm, wet beneath his feet.

He saw the back of the tall chair, moved forward warily, a lump of apprehension rising from the pit of his stomach. Qui-Gon was slumped forward over the console, his left hand still sunk into the spot that operated the spire. Obi-Wan checked the view screen.

The other ship was still there, quivering in a haze of Force energy.

He could feel the waning energy that course through his Master's body. As though in slow motion, he reached out, his hand pressed over Qui-Gon's. The Living Force flared up around them like silver flame.

// Master, help me!! Please, I cannot do this. I can't!! //

Qui-Gon's head lifted from the console, his eyes unfocused. He breathed out a long sigh, blinking. Then his right hand closed over Obi-Wan's. A long, shuddering intake of air made the broad shoulders shake. The silver tendrils of power poured through them both and Qui-Gon's head fell back, his eyes rolling as it coursed from him into the boy. Obi-Wan reeled forward against the console, fighting to keep conscious as he felt the Force ripping into his mind, his soul to flow into the ship. He could feel her hostility, her anger and his heart pleaded, begged for her help.

// Please, please, don't fight me. I'm only trying to help. Help him.Pleasepleasepleaseplease...//

He sensed the release, felt the bolt of energy rising and dazedly, watched the view screen as the second ship wavered in the ghostly light and vanished.

He sank to his knees, his head pressed against the arm of the chair, his hand slipping away from between his Master's. For a long, long moment, the universe dizzied and spun drunkenly. He heard Qui-Gon groan softly, and raising his head took such effort.

Qui-Gon had lost consciousness, his tall body slumped to one side, blood pouring from a blast bolt in his shoulder. Obi-Wan reached up, stricken. His Master's face was ashen, lips pale and parted as he struggled for breath.

// NOOoooooooooo! // He fought off a wave of panic and nausea.

"Syrene, is there an emergency kit in here?"

Somehow his voice registered a calm he was far from feeling. He shook his head to clear it and got to his feet. Gently, he eased Qui-Gon from the chair to the deck.

He touched the console gently. "Please, Syrene!! Please help me to help him."

The mechanical voice sounded sullen. "In the left banking. Compress the wound and use the bacta sheets. "

Moving as though in a dream, Obi-Wan did as she had told him, pulling off his tunic to bunch beneath Qui-Gon's head. His Master's thin shirt was soaked red with blood. Trembling so violently he could barely hold his hands steady, the boy placed the gel sheets over his chest, reaching with difficulty to get one under the big body to cover the exit wound. He knelt beside the prostrate figure in agony, his head bent low over Qui-Gon's chest.

// Oh, my Master please!! Please don't leave me here like this! Qui-Gon,don't! Don't you dare die on me!! //


	16. Chapter 16

XVI

Obi-Wan was beyond terror. He was beyond any kind of emotion now. His slender hands pulled gently at the remains of Qui-Gon's shirt.

"MmMaster?" his voice was barely audible.

Dazedly, he sat back on his heels and looked around him, then up at the viewscreen. Nothing but stars reached around the little ship, a spangled web in the blackness of space.

A low groan made his head snap back to focus on his fallen Master. Qui-Gon's eyelids fluttered open.

"Gone?"

Obi-Wan's voice rasped "Yes Master. Don't try to move, you're injured."

Qui-Gon ignored him and attempted to sit up, his face going even whiter with the strain. "Damn it!!" He managed to lift himself onto one elbow. "Obi, can ya take the controls? We're damned sittin' ducks out here like this."

The boy's face was nearly as white as his own, eyes dilated near-black, but he nodded. "Master, please lie still."

Qui-Gon sat up and glanced down at his shoulder. "How'd ya find the medpak?"

Obi-Wan had slipped into the tall chair and was eyeing the console, his lower lip quivering.

Qui-Gon shifted and managed to turn himself around to lean back on the console's banking. He looked up at the boy. "To yer right. Use the smaller one with your right hand."

Obi-Wan stared down at him, his eyes blank in sheer terror. "Master...I don't know..."

"Calm down!!" Qui-Gon groaned as he began to tear the remaining bits of fabric from his torso. "The course is already plotted. Just relax. Let it flow through ya."

Tentatively, Obi-Wan reached out and laid his shaking hand in the small hollow. Immediately, he felt the metal moving beneath his palm and fingers to cradle his hand.

//YOU!//

He could hear the venom in Syrene's voice, feel her jealousy. He struggled to rein in the sob building in his chest. Fear, pain and disbelief were robbing him of coherent thought.

"Please please!! He can't. He's injured. Help me!!!" He didn't even realise he had spoken aloud, much less that he was talking to an inanimate object.

Qui-Gon's voice cut through the blanket of panic beginning to enfold him.

"Syrene, don't be such a bloody bitch!! I'm down on the deckin' with a blaster bolt through my bloody shoulder. Now help the lad!"

// Will he be all right?// Obi-Wan heard the ship's metallic voice in his head. He nodded, breathlessly.

// Yes, but we've got to get moving. There might be more raiders. //

The pooling metal surged around his hand and he could feel the ship pulling the Force through him.

"Relax, Obi...let it go. You're the river..." Qui-Gon groaned again as he struggled to his feet, swaying with the effort. "Just let it flow, Obi. I'm goin' to the sickbay for a moment. Will ya be all right, boy?"

Obi-Wan nodded, biting his lower lip in concentration. He could feel the ship's every buffet as Syrene coursed through the still blackness of space. His face broke into a smile. This was wonderful. He was flying, really finally flying a ship. He had always wanted to fly. Indeed, he hadn't lied at all when he had told Qui-Gon how he used to sneak out of receptions and parties to watch the pilots of the pleasure cruisers in awe. He'd been caught more than once, and was severely punished the last time when he'd been found sitting on a co-pilot's lap, one delicately manicured hand on the navigation bar. Good little padawans were not supposed to ignore high dignitaries who had spent a small fortune for their company and run off to giggle with the pilots on the bridge. Obi-Wan was grinning at the memory.

// Did they really punish you? //

Startled out of his reverie, he heard Syrene's voice in his mind. He realised she must have seen every thought.

"Yes. I got quite a beating for that. This is fun!!" He no longer worried about talking to the ship.

Syrene, for her part, seemed more curious about him than angry and jealous now. The ship's mental touch was a tickle inside his head, decidedly different from the Force-sense of another person. He let his own awareness guide the little craft around a small pocket of debris, fully enjoying the weaving motion and the prickle of anticipation as he sensed each small obstacle.

He was so engrossed in flight that he didn't even feel his Master binding the still-bleeding wound on his leg. He glanced down, his face a small flame of pleasure. Qui-Gon grinned up at him.

"Ya're a natural at this. Why'd they never let ya fly?"

Obi-Wan grinned back at him. "We were just talking about that!"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "We?"

Obi-Wan's nose wrinkled in a giggle. "Syrene and I. I got a hell of a whipping the last time I skipped out on a formal luncheon to sneak up to the bridge."

// Poor Obi. But it was worth it, wasn't it? //

The boy burst out laughing at Syrene's wry comment. Qui-Gon simply shook his head. "Now I suppose I should be jealous, ya fickle female!"

Obi-Wan turned his head. "Master, are you all right?" He had been so wrapped up in his pleasure, he'd nearly forgotten the raiders and the fight. His memories surged back up, making him feel nauseous.

// Focus, boy. Keep yer focus. // Qui-Gon's mental touch reached deeper, calming him. "Concentrate on flight. Keep aware of here and now. The past can take care o' itself. And yes, I'm fine. Do ya want to take her into hyperdrive?"

The boy's eyes widened, his whole face alight with a dazzling smile. "Can I? Really?"

"Sure. We'll get there a whole lot faster, that's f'sure!" His Master laughed. "Left hand, the upper one, there." He indicated another of those shallow depressions.

Obi-Wan reached out his left hand and felt the metal pooling around it.

// Syrene? Is it ok? //

// Of course, silly. The course is plotted. And once we're in hyperdrive, you can tend to him. He's not as fine as he wants us to think. //

// I know. // Obi-Wan could feel his Master's fatigue, despite his dancing eyes and his grins.

He felt a sharp tug at his Force-senses, then gasped aloud as he felt the intense drain on him. The ship's metal wings folded back and she surged into hyperdrive. The intensity of it left him trembling and panting as though he had come. The thought made him blush and Qui-Gon laughed aloud, quite aware of what piloting Syrene could be like.

"Dulaan, we're on autopilot now. I will inform you when we are ready to drop back to normal speed."

"Thank you Syrene. Fer everything."

Obi-Wan left his right hand in place for a moment and let his mind reach out to the ship. // Thank you. //

// Of course. Be good to him. //

// I will. //

Reluctantly, he took his hands from the console and stood up. "Let's get some rest Master."

For a moment, he paused at the bridge doors, afraid to view the evidence of the raiders on the other side. His stomach lurched, remembering that disembodied head with its moving lips and shocked, blinking eyes. A shudder ran through his slender frame. Qui-Gon grasped his shoulder gently.

"It's all right, Obi. Don't worry."

The boy took a long, deep breath. Hells, he thought to himself. If I could do it, I should be able to look at it. He didn't see his Master's knowing smile over his head.

When the doors opened, he walked calmly through them without a trace of fear.


	17. Chapter 17

XVII

"WOOOOOOOHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" the screams echoed against the lake canyon's green hills, cupping the sound and spilling it into the blue sky. The scream preceded a huge splash into the dark water, sending fireworks of foam into the afternoon.

"I've gotcha naow!!" Koll ran headlong off the long rock overhang at the eastern end of the lake.

"Come on, then, and get me!!" taunted a dripping Obi-Wan as he tread water lightly, pushing his wet-dark red hair out of his face.

Another bloodcurdling shout, followed by a splash split the whirring insect-quiet of the afternoon. Late summer breathed out all its treasures here in a rush to win the race against impending autumn. The mild air was thick with the scent of grass and late blossom, of ripening fruit and the promise of colder days.

Qui-Gon stretched his long legs out under the great tree by the shore. He swung his left arm around experimentally, shrugging the kinks out of it. Mace had settled next to him, watching the flashing bodies in the lake with a smile.

"Hard to remember they're both so young, isn't it?"

Qui-Gon scowled. "They should be left to be so. It's a crime to make 'em grow up so fast."

Mace shrugged. "What can we do? It's the way of things, now."

"Tha' doesn't make it right." He raised his head at another volley of shouts and laughter. "He'd never have been like tha' four months back."

Mace leaned back against the tree trunk, pouring them each a goblet from the pitcher near his feet. "And you!! I could cheerfully have your greying head for that last stunt!!"

"Oh, stop yer naggin'!! I managed, didn't I?"

"Thanks only to him!!" Mace retorted. Qui-Gon only grinned at him.

"Ah, ya should've seen him fight!! Made me damned proud o' the lad!"

"And damn near got you both killed!! Are you out of your mind, Qui-Gon, to put yourself, worse, to put the boy in such danger!?"

There was a long uncomfortable silence between them. When Qui-Gon finally spoke, his voice was low and hard.

"It was a calculated risk I had t'take. It's gonna get worse before better, Mace. We'll all be facin' more than we know. I do na think the Senate will stir itself much. A mere blip or two that the negotiatin' teams can take care of. What I'm worried about is the Republican Guard. We're gonna be up against an army of genetically engineered fighters. And we know that wi'all our abilities, we're not bloody immortal!"

"But to risk him so soon..."

"He did just fine. I knew he would. And I needed him to decoy Meryck."

"Nevertheless," Mace replied. "You should have had at least a few crew members."

Qui-Gon grimaced. "More idiots to pay off!!" He dismissed the thought with a wave. "It only dilutes the profits and runs a worse risk of informers.No, Mace, I'll na have any more betrayals. The last was bad enough."

"True..." Mace's smooth brow furrowed. "The amount was staggering for a short run. How did you get Meryck to agree?"

"I dangled a few carrots." came the mild reply. "And planted a few seeds."

"What?"

Qui-Gon's teeth always seemed to grow huge when he smiled like that, Mace thought. It made him look like a big, hungry feline, lounging by a forest pool, waiting...

"I planted comlines all through out Meryck's place. I've a notion he's playing at both sides and mean to catch him out."

Mace raised an eyebrow. "Were you raised by wolves?"

Another predatory grin as Qui-Gon pushed his sweat-damp hair back. "Na, just a coven of Sith witches in league with the fey folk."

Mace grinned back at him. "Speaking of Sith witches, how's your sister?"

His friend just groaned and lay back into the sweetgrass. "A hag, as always. If you're wantin' Maera Dubh, you'll have better luck not tryin' through me!"

Mace's expression grew thoughtful. "You should make amends with her. She'd be a powerful ally."

"She a miserable, deceptive, evil bitch an' I want naught t'do with the wretch!!"

"In other words, she's just as devious as her charming brother."

"Bugger off, Mace. I don't want t'hear it."

A slight breeze ruffled Qui-Gon's hair. His eyes were trained on the horizon, always aware, even in the slumber of a summer afternoon. Koll and Obi-Wan were sitting on the rock ledge, legs dangling. It did not take any kind of Force-driven sense to know that they were stuffing themselves on the bucket of blackberries for which they had braved the brambles earlier. The dappled sunlight softened his face to an almost pensive expression.

"What in all that's holy are you thinking of, Qui? You look almost melancholy."

"I remember being that young. A long time ago." He shot Mace a rueful smile, rotating his stiff left arm again. "I don't mind tellin' ya that bolt took the starch out o' me."

Mace sniggered. "Are you confessing to age, my friend? To, how shall I say it, a lessening of your formidable strength?"

"Sarcastic bastard you are! And yes, I'm na gettin' any younger. It was past time. I'm just glad our friends at temple found him at all."

Mace shook his head infinitesimally. // Hush. No place is safe for that talk. Even here.//

Qui-Gon yawned. //True. Annoyin' but true. I've intercepted nearly all his little reports. They were goin' to a certain Senator Dariall, but I'm quite sure it's a blind. I'll find out.//

Mace refilled their glasses and took a long draught. The shadows were darkening over the lake as the sun dipped lower. Its rays flooded the ground with streaks of dark gold, spangling the mist rising off the surface of the midnight water.

"You should go there."

"Go where? That bloody industrial hellhole?"

// Be serious, Qui. We need information. The layout of the place, the spaceport, the security.//

Qui-Gon sat up and skimmed a rock across the water. "I willna do it!! I hate the sight of cities."

//I know. But so soon? I was hopin' to give him a few more months' training.//

"Well, you know best, but the boy might be homesick. You might have a little compassion for that."

Qui-Gon's ears pricked up. Yes, there, behind them in the tall grass. Not very subtle, he thought sourly.

// And he'll know the place inside-out. Better than any of our people there except the ones we cannot spare.//

"Oh, all right, ya're worse than a mother hen!! I'll give the lad a treat and take him home for a spell. He could use it." Qui-Gon stared out over the lake with inseeing eyes. "He's becoming a rowdy."

The last low sparks of the setting sun glinted, shadowing the lines around his eyes, his mouth.

// He's beginnin' to ask questions, Mace. How much can I--//

// Not yet! Not yet. We just can't. Yet. //


	18. Chapter 18

XVIII

Obi-Wan felt as though his lungs would burst. His chest was burning and his eyes began to swim with tears. A little longer...just a little. He exploded upwards, out of the water, dragging air into his deprived body. The rush of it made him faint and he swayed for a moment before Qui-Gon caught hold of him.

"Easy now. That was good. Nearly fifteen minutes. I didna expect so much. Take it easy, boy. Slowly. Breathe slowly or you'll just pass out."

The world spun around in circles, but Qui-Gon's arms were solid and warm. He clung to a stray lock of hair, his entire body trembling. Slowly, he spiraled back to earth, his face buried against Qui-Gon's chest.

As if apart from himself, he inhaled deeply, smelling the warm laundry-soap--and-sweat-scent of his Master's robes. Beneath that, the sweet, warm smell of his Master's skin, the tickling feel of the long hair clinging to his damp face and shoulders. A shift of focus, just a tiny nudge, and he could feel himself pressed against those hard thighs. Obi-Wan's head tipped back and he sucked in a long breath.

"Ooooh Master..." he murmured into the rough fabric of Qui-Gon's tunic, his head cresting against the big hand cradling it. When he looked up into the crinkled, laughing blue eyes, his own were hot and predatory.

He didn't dare speak. It had been three weeks since their return from the ill-fated raid. Part of him was crowing with triumph. The other part had watched in agony as Qui-Gon had lain wounded and half-conscious for days. His fingers twitched, remembering days of sponging off that tall, fevered body; of endless bandage changes; of watching frantically for any sign of returning sensibility. There had been a span of some fifteen hours when it was an unsure thing at best. The boy's face had gone haggard, bleak in limpid fear.

Too tired and too anguished to weep, Obi-Wan had accepted one thing as fact in those hours: he loved the big man who owned him. Never mind that he was a barbarian, never mind that he couldn't begin to comprehend the subtleties of fine etiquette. None of that mattered. The only thing he had been desperate for was those blue eyes laughing into his, that face freed of its warp of pain.

Only Koll knew how he had fled to the lake when Qui-Gon's fever broke, curled up underneath the big tree in a dry-eyed miasma of gratified anguish. Together, the boys had wept for their near-loss and clung to one another in a haze of relief. In the morning light, they had separated with stammers, each returning to his chores, flush-faced and shy.

Three weeks without that strong body claiming his own...Obi-Wan's arms tightened around his Master's neck.

"Easy!!! Easy, lad!! Ye'll strangle me f'sure!!" Qui-Gon laughed down at him.

The grey-green eyes darkened to near-blue, burning into his own with want. He tipped the fire-flushed face up to his.

"Yer doin' well, love. Very well." Qui-Gon's eyes measured him for a moment. "How would ya like t'go home?"

Obi-Wan started, pulled back for a moment, confusion evident in his look. "Home?"

"To Coruscant? Would ya like it?" Without waiting for the boy's response, he continued, his voice a little distant and dreamy. "I've never seen it up close." He grinned down at the vibrant face straining up to his. He claimed its lips in a wet kiss.

"Oh, aye, I've been there. But I've never seen all its high-life. Tell me, imp, could ya show me how the fine folk there amuse themselves." he teased, pinching the round rump to make the long, slender legs twine around his hips.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his Master's arms. "Who cares!!! They don't have this." His last words were swallowed in a devouring kiss.

For a moment, Qui-Gon might have pulled away, then allowed himself to be sucked into a vortex of hot, wet lips. The boy's arms wound round him like sucker vines, his hands clinging to the long hair.

"Master, please..." his voice was a hoarse whisper. Qui-Gon took him by the shoulders and held him at arms' length.

The big eyes were hot and dangerous, a flush burning across the slanting cheekbones, the small straight nose. His lower lip trembled, ripe and lush as perfectly- ready fruit. The long legs tightened around his waist; hard sex pushing against his stomach insistently.

This was an Obi-Wan he had never seen before, alight with passion, insistent and needy. Gently, he disentangled himself from the slender limbs.

"Get yerself cooled off. I'll be in our rooms f'meal. Aye, lad?" Qui-Gon's blue eyes had darkened to near-midnight, dancing.

For a moment, the young face was bereft, paling to show the nutmeg sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Then his eyes deepened to blue-green, laughing back at his Master's.

"Oh, all right!! I've already told Mairteth what to make!. And I don't want to leave, Master."

Qui-Gon gave him a swat on the backside. "Three laps around the lake, then in wi' you, ya impudent brat."

* * *

By the third lap, Obi-Wan had conquered desire and was painfully aware of his burning leg muscles as he traversed the lake's perimeter. He remembered to tread water for a good five minutes until his breathing returned to normal and his body stopped its shuddering with the hot release of exercise. Laughing, he swam to shore and toweled himself off. He wound the towel around his waist, grabbed his clothes and headed up the path to the castle.

The great hall way empty when he padded through, lifting his feet instinctively against the chill of a late-summer's evening on the flagstones.

Lightly, he ran up the steps to his Master's quarters.

He paused at the first floor, hearing a voice from within one of the long-unused rooms. Silently, he crept closer, ignoring the goosebumps on his arms and the chilled dripping of his hair down his back.

"He plans on taking the brat home."

Obi-Wan flattened himself against the wall, ears straining for the slightest sound. "No, I don't know when. I will alert you, Master."

Obi-Wan melted into the shadows to watch Zath emerge from the dusty room, shoving a comlink into his tunic. The boy's eyes were hard and steady and purely, entirely green.

* * *

Obi-Wan luxuriated in the bath for so long Qui-Gon had actually asked if he was growing gills. Reluctantly, he finished his shaving and oils, threw on his pale peach night-robe and emerged to torment his Master with a flurry of pallid silk, damp-dark hair and heated eyes. He settled himself in one of the comfortable chairs that had been installed before the low fire and filled his Master's plate with delicate nuggets of noodle and meat-filled dumpling.

Lifting the food-sticks, he slid onto Qui-Gon's lap, holding a tender, steamed morsel to his lips.

"What..." Qui-Gon swallowed the delicacy. "in hells do you think you're doing?" He laughed, pulling the silk-clad slenderness close.

"Zath. Comlink. Downstairs." the boy breathed into his ear as if seducing him. "Reporting trip to Coruscant."

Qui-Gon's hands became iron and held Obi-Wan away from him. "Are you sure?" he hissed.

Slender hands ran seductively along his cheeks and he leaned in close. "Of course I am. Should I keep watching?" he sighed softly against the ill-shaven neck. "Oh, Master..." his clever hand moved lower, pulling up on the considerable erection in his Master's leggings. Qui-Gon groaned. Those long fingers wrapped themselves around his cock, pulling ever-so-gently. He looked up into the boy's eyes. They were hot, alive, green-blue coals burning in a flushed face of desire. There was no denying that hunger.

"Take me, damn you. Take me!!" Obi-Wan's voice was a hiss of violent need. His hands parted Qui-Gon's sleep-robe as he steadied himself above the stiff evidence of his owner's desire. Lowering himself onto the shaft of his Master's want, he moved back and forth, his whole face burning.

"Oh, please....please my Master. Damn you, FUCK ME!!! C'mon, fuck me hard!!" He was rocking back and forth on Qui-Gon's lap, his hands reaching down between the splayed, long legs; fondling the heavy balls; testing the place where his Master disappeared into himself.

The young flesh enveloped him, swallowed him whole as he bucked against the silken softness of Obi-Wan's skin. He felt the soft inner vortex take hold of him like a vice.

"Yesssssss...." he hissed, cupping the round buttocks, fingers bruising the pale skin as he thrust violently into the strong young body. Obi-Wan arched back, pushing himself down deeper and deeper, as though trying to bury his Master inside his clenching-hot self. His hand grasped the long hair, yanking hard to pull his Master's face to his and sucking him into a bruising kiss.

" I love you, damn you. I love you." the lilting voice hissed against Qui-Gon's kiss-swollen lips.

He exploded, arching up to pierce the tender hole he penetrated, hands fierce on the pumping hips to hold the lad steady. He heard a long, low moan of satiation and realised, with a dim shock, that it was his. The boy's arm were around his neck, lips seeking and desperate against his throat.

"Oh, my master. My beloved. My own."

Qui-Gon sank into sleep, clinging to the soft warmth above him.


	19. Chapter 19

XIX

Leaving for Coruscant was easier said than done. Qui-Gon refused to budge until he felt fit for more than a "mucky little bit o'shite" as he so eloquently referred to their mishap. That meant two more months of training so intense that Obi-Wan despaired of walking, let alone katas or swimming. That last delirious night when he had discovered both Zath's treachery and his own aggressive hunger was a dim memory in a world of fierce physical trials and ever-deepening hours of meditation and Force-use. There had been little time for leisure of any kind, much less using their big bed for more than exhausted slumber. Then, there was the harvest to consider. Qui-Gon oversaw vast sweeps of acreage and, typically, found it difficult to leave it to outsiders or even his own people. He was responsible for many, many people and took it as a personal point of honour to make sure they were well-supplied for the harsh Remwara winter. Thus, Obi-Wan learned to thresh grain, haul fodder, and herd animals. He balked entirely at the slaughterhouses, and, once his Master saw how pitifully sick he'd been, was grateful to be relieved of that duty. That was Qui-Gon's only concession to his delicate, Inner-Rim upbringing. He was a part of the castle family now, and expected to work just as hard.

In the end, it was almost four months before Qui-Gon was satisfied that his people were cared for and his body healed. By that time, the winter had arrived in a blistering hail of sleet. Obi-Wan was shocked at the violent change of season. Summer had been a heaven of sweet grass breezes and soft rain. Autumn blew more fiercely, its downpours hard and long and chilly, consoled by the glowing bronze-gold of the fields, of flame-coloured trees. Just as suddenly, it grew achingly cold. The wind howled in the castle flues, blowing ash about the Great Hall. They spent much more time there for warmth, every member of the household huddled close to the great fireplace, almost as tall as Qui-Gon himself.

During one of these evenings, Obi-Wan was stretched out on the floor, teaching a dice-game to Ara and Koll, when heavy banging on the enormous doors startled him violently. Qui-Gon didn't even turn around: he simply waved the doors open and rose with a sigh, putting his pipe down to turn and face their soggy visitor.

"Hello Mace."

//Not here.// he glanced briefly at Zath, who was studying the fire a little too pointedly.

Without another word, the two men disappeared up the steps to the Tower room.

Only Obi-Wan noticed Zath, whose eyes darted up and back rapidly.

An hour later, the servant rose and slinked halfway up the stairs, only to be called back down by a shriek from Mairteth in the kitchen. Koll and Obi-Wan ran, parting the leather curtains to see an entire flock of bats wheeling around the arched ceiling, knocking into the strung herbs and hanging pots. Somehow, the small window high up in the wall had come undone and was flapping wildly in the wind.

Zath trudged into the storeroom for the ladder, cursing under his breath. Mairteth waved her apron about, screeching, while Koll and Obi-Wan climbed up on the table to open the great skylight.

Only Ara, a small shadow by the stoves, caught the grin on Obi-Wan's face in the low firelight.

* * *

Three days later, Obi-Wan settled himself into the pilot's seat of Syrene, his smile so broad Qui-Gon thought it would split his face in two.

"Are ya that happy t' go home, lad?" Qui-Gon teased gently.

Obi-Wan had not been surprised when his Master had insisted on taking Zath with them, as well as two crew members he'd never met, and Mace. He knew enough court intrigue to understand the concept of keeping one's enemies close.

"I don't care about home!" He settled down, his right hand hovering into position on the gilded console. "I get to fly!!"

"That ya do, but do you know how t'take off?" Qui-Gon was lounging against the bulkhead, arms crossed.

Obi-Wan bit his lip and glanced up. "Well, no. But I figured Syrene'd help and..."

His Master shook his head and leaned over the high-backed chair. "That's right. Now, left hand here." He moved the smaller hand into a place, down and to the left.

"Greetings, Dulaan. Obi-Wan." The pleasant metallic voice echoed a little in the golden bridge. "View screens up." The hangar appeared suddenly all around them.

"Revving engines." Obi-Wan's toes curled in his rough traveling boots at the warm hum and gentle vibration. "Course plotted, Obi-Wan?"

Syrene had addressed him as the pilot in charge and it made his face glow, but her question made him droop in dismay and he turned to Qui-Gon, a furrow dug deep between his even brows.

The Master shook his head with a laugh. "Don't take on so!! I've already plotted it, Syrene. Check the number five datalog."

"Right, Dulaan. We are ready for take-off."

"All right, Obi-Wan. Pull through your left hand." The boy's questioning look earned him a smack to the back of the head. "Use the Force, ya dimwit." Qui-Gon was laughing softly.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Obi-Wan's face flamed. He centred himself, taking a long breath and felt the engines' purring grow deeper.

"Now, " Qui-Gon's voice was low, next to his ear. "Let it flow through you to the right. Direct it an' let yourself be part of it." The purring became a roar and the delicate craft moved forward, emerging from the hangar. "Good. Good. Now, take your left hand away and let it soar. See it." The rough voice deepened, softened almost seductively. "C'mon, lad. Fly for me."

Obi-Wan's face was set and intense, eyes wide but focused on a place deep inside himself. The little ship gave a lurch to glide up into the rain-sodden skies and out into the thinning bands of atmosphere. Then they were surrounded by the star-sequined blackness of space.

Obi-Wan turned brilliant eyes to his Master. "Before we go into hyperspace, Master, I have one question."

Qui-Gon stood back and arched an eyebrow at him. "An' what's tha'?"

"What in the world does 'Dulaan' mean?"

Obi-Wan stared in shock to see his Master's face flood with colour until he was positively scarlet.

"Hmmmm..." Qui-Gon took a long breath. "It's a old language from Remwara's far western provinces. That's where the metal is mined."

"So," the grey-green eyes shone, almost silver in the lights, "what does it mean?"

Qui-Gon sighed again. "It used t' be dealanach." He shrugged. "Times and tongues change. It means 'Lightening. Flamin' coal.'" he murmured. Then he glared at the boy. "An' if ya start laughin', I swear I'll give ya a beatin' you'll never forget. "

//He gets so silly, doesn't he?// Syrene's voice sighed into Obi-Wan's mind.

It took every bit of his training, both in etiquette and control, to keep for dissolving into a fit of merriment.

Fortunately, the jump to hyperspace and its nearly-erotic effects turned the tables enough to restore Qui-Gon's humour.

* * *

Obi-Wan was almost pouting. When he had been on Coruscant, pouting used to be a favourite method of getting his own way. In his case, it usually had worked, but he'd never dared to try it on Qui-Gon. He had a bad feeling it would only have earned him a load of ridicule. They were near their destination and about to drop out of hyperspace.

Syrene had been on auto-pilot for much of the trip, but Qui-Gon had spent so much time locked in the common room with Mace that he had relented to Obi-Wan's bored yawns and longing looks. He detoured to give them an extra day's journey at time speed. Hiding his grin beneath a beard growing wild again, he chose a small debris field and let Obi-Wan spend a whole day prowling around obstacles, dodging small asteroids and playing in flight like a fledgling bird. His grin grew wider: it had been well worth the day's time. Obi-Wan was not so much a flame that night, but a wildly blazing fire.

'Funny, ' he thought to himself, making his way to the bridge where he knew he'd find the boy, hunched over the console, staring out the viewscreen with rapt eyes. 'If I'd the sense to be embarrassed...even Syrene might've blushed!'

He watched from the door of the bridge for a moment.

Obi-Wan's long-fingered hands were wandering over the console, clearly in communion with Syrene, soaking up all the nuances of flight like a sponge. The Master's blue eyes crinkled in a wry smile. ' Hate to make him stop, but we've got t'land. An' if I have to listen to anymore strategy meetins', I'll be drinkin' too much when we do!!'

Qui-Gon regretted that so much of the trip had been spent in long hours with Mace and his crewmen, both relatives well-acquianted with his plans. That, and keeping a sharp eye on Zath and the comlinks had made it a less than enjoyable cruise. His greatest pleasure had been the young man's delight at having command of the ship. 'An' thank all the ghods, Syrene likes him or I'd have had my hands full!!'

Obi-Wan turned from the console. "Master, I've learned so much!! Syrene's told me nearly everything!!"

"That's wonderful, love. Now, ya have t'go change. I'll land 'er."

It gave Qui-Gon an odd wrench to see the vibrant face fall. "I'm sorry, lad.

But you've got t'get yourself ready. It won't do f' you to come home looking like the tinker's child."

Obi-Wan sighed. He thought about pouting, nearly did, but it would shame his Master if he descended the ramp dressed in his worn tunic and leggings.

//All right, Syrene. We need to descend to time speed.//

The ship's voice was teasing. // It's ok. After all, there's a trip back, isn't there?//

The boy grinned. "True. Thanks, Syrene."

He rose from the console and smiled at Qui-Gon. "I'll go and change, Master."

Qui-Gon watched him leave with an almost wistful smile.

"Dulaan? Ahem. Pay attention to the orbit, you silly man!"

* * *

Obi-Wan ran lightly back to their quarter's and reluctantly pulled out his traveling clothes. He had not so much as looked at them since his arrival at Remwara so many months earlier. He threw the three robes on the bed and pulled out the great traveling cloak in its tissue wrappings with a moan.

After a quick trip to the sonic,clean and freshly shaven, he sat at the dressing table and carefully replaited the heavy braid hanging over his right shoulder, then brushed the rest of his hair well.

'Ugh.' he thought. 'I'll need to put it up down there.' It was considered absolutely gauche for a Padawan with a Master to let his hair loose. It took him a few minutes to even find where he'd stashed the long pins. Carefully, he pulled the tawny locks up as simply as possible, savagely wishing he could chop it all off, except for the braid. When he'd finished , the heavy mass was twisted into a tail and piled on the back of his head. He just refused to even attempt the usual elaborate styles without a proper dresser. He glanced at himself in the mirror. It look a bit , well, peasanty, but would have to do.

He glared at the makeup. A lick or two here, a little kohl around the wide eyes, a brush of colour on his lips...

No, no, no, no, no. His skin was so bronzed from being outdoors!! It made him look like a painted tavern harlot. He scrubbed the colour away, leaving only his eyes ringed delicately as possible. It still made him grimace.

A lurch meant they had landed. Oh, he had taken too long!! His stomach fluttering with panic, he yanked the first solid pale silken robe over his head and struggled to pull it down over his shoulders.

A horrible, wrenching rip and the back seam of the robe tore open. Obi-Wan gasped and stood still, staring at the filmy over-robes in terror. Maybe he could hide it under the cloak? He wriggled a little more and it tore across his chest. It was supposed to fall below his instep, but hung just above his ankles. What in all the ghods had happened to it! The twin outer robes were merely decorative and whisper-thin. He couldn't go out like this!!

His eyes blurred for a moment. All his other formal clothing was in the transport cases. His Master would be coming to fetch him any second. He stood there, shaking. Then his face set and he pulled the torn robe off his body. His hair tumbled out of its pins and he cursed, pulling them out and tossing them onto the dressing table. Just then the ship's comlink in the room buzzed.

"Obi-Wan, get movin'. Meet us at the ramp now!"

He went back to the dresser and got out his best cream-coloured tunic and leggings. Once dressed, he glanced down at the high-soled sandals and shrugged, sitting down to pull on his boots.

He pulled his hair back into a neat tail, then turned to consider the heavy silken traveling robe. Its gaudy brocade was...he groaned, then a sly smile spread across his face. He turned it inside out to display the plain brown silk lining. Slinging it over his shoulders, he took a long breath and looked at himself in the mirror. Horrible, peasant class, and utterly right, it would do until he could get to the transport cases and a proper dresser. Determined chin thrust out, he squared his shoulders and strode out of the room.

Unconsciously, as they descended the ramp into Coruscant's controlled climate, he tucked his hands into the sleeves.

Mace pulled at Qui-Gon's arm, dark eyes startled.

//By all the ghods, he looks like the ancient...//

Qui-Gon's face was impassive, but the blue eyes burned hot.

//I told you he was the one.//


	20. Chapter 20

XX

Obi-Wan was bored to tears. He sat on the sofa, staring out the tall window into the twilit traffic, slowly swinging one high sandal from his big toe. It was a sure sign he was daydreaming.

Behind his back, the low table buzzed with gossip, whispered secrets, dirty little desires. Lunch had expanded to tea and now the Coruscant sun was setting and the group of padawans still chattered and giggled.

Bruck Chun raised himself up on one arm from the low cushions. "And what have you been up to!!? Hey, Oafy-Wan!!! What've you been doing? Eight months you've been gone. Not a vid-note, not a holo-call. Just----poof----disappears into thin air, he does!!"

The rest of the table indulged in a soft titter. Obi-Wan turned slowly, yanking surreptitiously at the folds of silk bunched beneath him. The robes were not meant to be worn sitting on furniture. Their exquisite embroidery and delicate draperies were more suited to a padawan's customary kneeling position. He dragged the layers of material out from under his thighs with a groan.

"What the hell do you lot care!" His eyes were very green.

Garen smirked and tossed a gold-wrapped choco at him. "Your Master bought you a whole new wardrobe!! And you're still pouting! He must be horrible."

"No kidding!!! And he doesn't even slow down for you!! How do you keep up with him!?" Till chimed in, raising his golden head from the spray of flowers he kept twirling.

"Do you run?" Bruck purred. "Or just slide home?"

Obi-Wan threw the choco at him. "Bugger off!!" He remembered with distaste the obscene amount of money it had cost to replace his now-woefully inadequate wardrobe and the equally obscene amusement on his Master's face during the fittings. The sandal swung a little harder.

He was so stiff. He had wakened the past few mornings aching and wanting nothing more than an hour's run around the lake, a two-mile swim, and three hours of sabre-training. Garen was burbling on about his new domicile.

"It's got five separate bedrooms, plus a roof-top garden with a six-person hot tub!!" he gushed. "I just know I'll get the wet bar installed out there by Year-tide!"

Obi-Wan grinned at him. "Lovely. Does it take all that liquor?" his voice was silky.

Garen glared at him. His new Master being Quermian, the comment provoked a rush of giggles, half-hidden behind perfectly manicured fingers.

"And your Master's 'castle', Obi? What's that like?" Bruck was smiling but his eyes were cold.

Obi-Wan stifled an irritated sigh. He peeled a Keewa fruit and lapped at it. "Just dreamy. Cold grey stone, furs and fleas. Any other bloody questions?" He popped the globular fruit into his mouth.

Zanna slid close to him. "Oh, c'mon Obi-Wan!!! It must be awful!! Here you are, the perfect Padawan!! I mean, Forcesakes, your price!! It's a Temple record, you know! Look at how he made you travel!! You looked like a--a-- filthy peasant when you disembarked!!"

"He didn't make me do anything!!!" Obi-Wan protested. "I just---" his voice died away. There was absolutely no sense trying to get this group to even begin to understand. Besides, Qui-Gon had asked him to be discreet.

"He what, Oafy? I bet he's hit you!! You're scared of him." Bruck crowed. "I would be. By the Force, he's huge. I don't imagine he's got much use for all those oils and toys!!"

The table erupted into another round of giggling as Obi-Wan blushed scarlet.

Bruck leaned closer, his pale hair swinging close to Obi-Wan's hot cheek. "C'mon. Spill it. He's an animal. I bet he tore you to pieces the first time."

"Much you know about it!" Obi-Wan retorted. "And my Master is not an animal!"

"So, has he hit you?"

"Once." The words were dragged out reluctantly. "It was my own fault anyway." Obi-Wan had slammed up his shields hard, feeling the press of all-too-curious minds at him. Nothing would be worse than any of this pampered lot seizing on memories of that raid. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horror that would produce.

Fortunately, his increased shielding was misinterpreted. Zanna leaned back into the cushions with a satisfied smirk. "Oh, I'm sure you deserved it. You always had a mouth on you, Obi."

"Yes, you did. I guess you watch your tongue around him, don't you?" Bruck sneered.

A year ago, this kind of cruel teasing would have been unthinkable. Now it just seemed trivial. Obi-Wan gave Bruck a half-hearted little grin and resumed staring out of the window, shifting his feet restlessly. If he didn't get some exercise soon, he felt as though he would jump out of his skin.

At precisely that moment, his Master was equally bored and restless and longing for a good long workout. He listened to the group at the tea house with half an ear. The conversation revolved around some damned piece of porcelain they were admiring and whose Padawan was prettier. He leaned over to one of his two aides.

"Jax, get me the hell out o'here. I need a run or a proper drink." His voice was low.

Jax suppressed a grin and rose to escort his cousin out the door. Qui-Gon towered over nearly everyone there and had to duck exiting the flimsy little house. The canned, artificial air made his sinuses itch. As he left, one of the richly robed dignitaries turned to another.

"What is this place coming to!! Riffraff like that with a padawan. It's disgraceful!"

His companion stretched her legs out. "Well, what do you expect? There should be laws about it. I feel badly for that poor boy. And he was the most lovely little thing. Have you seen him yet?"

The tea house hostess put down her new bowl to join the complaint. "I saw them at the landing pad. Poor child!! Dressed like a peasant. Boots!!! Can you believe it?!"

Another guest leaned into the conversation. "That was Kenobi, wasn't it? Didn't you sponsor him?"

Senator Palpatine smiled a trifle sadly. "Yes. I had hoped to purchase him myself. He is priceless. A masterpiece!! All gone to waste on that barbarian. At least while he's here I can make his visit a pleasant one. I have a dinner planned for next week and hope you all will join us."

"Oh, wonderful!!" The leg-stretcher clapped her hands. "It's always a delight to be your guest."

The conversation drifted back to art.

Qui-Gon paused at the door to the padawans' informal lounge. They were a pretty picture, all wound in layers of exquisite materials, laughing over cups so delicate the tea's colour shone through them. Obi-Wan's eyes lit up and he disengaged himself from the sofa, bowing low in the traditional manner before his Master.

"Have I kept you waiting, Master?"

"No, of course not." Qui-Gon was aware of a dozen pairs of eyes glued to him.

// Stow the bobbin' and scrapin'! //

Obi-Wan swallowed a giggle and gravely introduced his Master to the bright group of padawans. They exchanged a few pleasantries and beat a hasty retreat, at least as hasty as Obi-Wan could manage in his formal attire.

Out in the corridor, he struggled with the urge to yank up the trailing robes, kick off the sandals and run. He could sense that his Master was equally restless.

"Is there anyplace we can work up a sweat i' this damned morgue?" Qui-Gon grumbled, pausing a third time for Obi-Wan to catch up to his long strides.

"Not really. Well, there are the ancient training salles. No one ever uses them. I'll bet they're covered in dust, though."

"Come on. Let's get changed and try one f'size." Qui-Gon grinned down at him, then suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Master!!!" Obi-Wan tried to exclaim, but his lips were otherwise occupied. He started to laugh into the kiss. "Master! Please!! Not here!" He was rewarded with a swat to the backside.

"In wi' ya, brat!"

Neither of them was aware of Bruck's very pale, very cold eyes watching from the other end of the corridor.

* * *

"I saw them. In the old training room. Both of them. Yes, lightsabres." Bruck's voice was a hurried whisper into the comlink.

Across the plaza, in the suite of rooms set aside for Qui-Gon and his entourage, Zath also poked at his comlink. He heard Jax's low voice outside the door and stashed it in his pocket.

Darial Brilk threw his across the room with a curse. Whatever that overgrown pirate was planning, he wasn't sharing his thoughts with a lowly house servant. Perhaps it was time to use his position as Senatorial Temple Guardian to pry more information out of those two lackeys.

Senator Palpatine stared out of his office window with a grimace. Lightsabres in a padawan's hands? What in all hells was that privateer doing, messing about with antique weapons? Whatever Jinn was up to, he was dangerous and tricky. The dinner party would be a good place to start delving for information. He pursed his lips, a memory nagging at him. He was sure he had sensed the big man's presence here on Coruscant a year past. It was patently impossible but the senator knew better than to distrust his very acute instincts. Jinn would certainly bear watching.

* * *

Obi-Wan touched the whisper-thin silk reverently. It was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The entire set of robes was antique, literally priceless. He could not help feeling a little overwhelmed by the gift. It gave him a pleasant little thrill to know that his former sponsor still held him in such regard, but a gift of this magnitude was daunting and not, strictly speaking, appropriate. Senator Palpatine's aide had personally delivered the beautifully wrapped box to Obi-Wan that morning. The handwritten note, on the thinnest, most expensive hand-made paper welcomed him home with warm affection. With it, the aide delivered the formal invitation to a dinner party. Qui-Gon simply raised an eyebrow and nodded his assent. He eyed the gold and silver brocade robes lined in brilliant green and blue, with ill-disguised irritation.

The whole morning had been awkward and Obi-Wan retreated to the bedroom, suddenly uncomfortable with Jax and Tryyl and Zath and his Master all watching him.

He let his fingers trail over the silk embroidery with a sigh. He knew that Qui-Gon had been up very late with his cousins and Mace and had come to bed exhausted. He had been fine earlier, before the box arrived. Obi-Wan also knew that Coruscant manners were not a complete mystery to Qui-Gon. He had expected some little gift from his former sponsor, certainly nothing so magnificent. He giggled softly. It appeared that his Master was having quite a fit of jealousy. The thought tickled him so much that he could have kissed Palpatine. Obi-Wan was still young and vain enough to enjoy a little thrill of power that came with making his Master seethe a bit.

He luxuriated in the tub that afternoon, relaxed and let himself be completely pampered by the dresser sent from the Temple to care for his toilette. Over the past weeks, he had been uncomfortable with everything that once had been so familiar. Only now did he let himself enjoy the luxuries he used to take so for granted. He still got cramps if he knelt for too long, but he was a guest this evening and would not be expected to serve the meal. It took two droids, the dresser and most of the afternoon to turn him out to his own satisfaction.

Qui-Gon seemed to have gotten over his morning's pique and was undeniably impressed. The robes enveloped Obi-Wan's slim body in a dazzle of bimetallic brilliance. When he walked, the linings flashed their jewel-tones, whispering against one another. He was pleased that the boy had foregone some ghastly upswept hair arrangement and left it in a simple knot at the back of his neck. The padawan braid hung over his shoulder, a heavy ribbon of gilded russet silk, threaded with tiny white flowers and blue cords. Qui-Gon hid a proprietary smile. From the way Obi-Wan's eyes kept drifting towards the mirror, he didn't need to be told he looked magnificent.

"C'mon you!! Ya look fine, stop starin' at yourself. "

Obi-Wan laughed. "They really are gorgeous. They should be in a museum, you know."

"Should they now?"

"Mmmmhmmm." He brushed away an imaginary speck of dust with one beautifully manicured hand. "They're at least three hundred years old. Perfect." He turned so he could watch the liquid spill of rustling silk pooling around his feet.

"Listen, ya bloody peacock. If you can tear y'self away from the mirror, we won't miss the hovercar."

Obi-Wan smiled up at his Master, lifted the big hand and kissed it gently. "I wouldn't dream of making you late, Master." he teased.

* * *

Zath made very sure that they were gone and the two aides had left for their own dinners before he punched Darial's code into his comlink.

"There something up wi' that Mace person. Yew won't get shite from th' other two, they're family. If they suspect aught, they'll carve you up. Blasted savages. Naow, I want my reward."

Dariel sighed. The cringing servant was becoming a liability. It would be better to pay him off now. "All right, the amount agreed upon. I'll have it transferred immediately."

"And one favour."

"What?" Dariel snapped.

"The big bastard's got this bedslave. He annoys th' living tits off me. Can yew arrange for him to disappear."

"A bedslave? Mmmmm...why not? They always need more stock for the Guards. I'll call you later about it."

"Naow. T'night."

"All right. I'll send someone round about two. Make sure no one sees."

"Oh, yew can bet I'll make damn sure o'that."

Zath stashed the comlink and set out a bottle for Tryyl and Jax, making sure he added just enough Sopfor powder to send them to sleep quickly. Qui-Gon, he knew, had yet another one of his late night meetings with Mace. Obi-Wan would be alone.


	21. Chapter 21

XXI

Qui-Gon guided him gently, one hand on his arm as they descended from the slow hovercar. A long, leisurely tool through the most expensive part of Upper Coruscant and Obi-Wan was sure that anyone who counted had seen them. The soft sunlight glinted off the gilded embroidery of his robes as his Master handed him down. Instinctively, he flipped open the carved fan,half-hiding his face. Qui-Gon's glare was lost in his wonderment.

The Senator's home was familiar to Obi-Wan. He had visited here often during his years of sponsorship and he had never grown tired of its beauty. The entire tower housed the Senator, his aides and servants, slaves and staff. The lower levels were devoted to kitchens, laundry, hydroponic gardens. The mid-section consisted of the staff quarters and offices. Floating high above in the uppermost reaches of the silvery tower was the Senator's home with its terraced garden balconies and cloud-view vistas.

Senator Palpatine himself greeted Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan as the servo-droid led them through the winding hall to the tower suite.

"Ah, my dearest Obi-Wan!! Lord Jinn, you are my most welcome guest."

Obi-Wan bowed low and was quick to notice that his Master was on his best behavior, handling himself with grace and dignity. He hid a smirk behind his fan. / Just a little too much dignity! / Qui-Gon managed to appear formidable and remote and just a trifle dangerous.

// Dangerous how? //

Obi-Wan stifled another grin. // Might have something to do with the blaster you never use. It does look -- ahem--- large. Master. //

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and swept ahead of him, his velvet cloak billowing around him like a midnight sea.

// Behave y'self or I'll take ya over my knee! //

For a moment, Obi-Wan was intent on freeing the hem of his glittering outer robe from a nonexistent snag. His lips twitched and he accepted Palpatine's arm gratefully, his eyes carefully lowered.

"Senator, I am honoured by your regard f' myself and my Padawan." Qui-Gon was struggling with the formal words. Obi-Wan slid a white hand onto his sleeve.

"My Master and I are so happy to be your guests, my Lord." he murmured dutifully.

Palpatine raised the boy's face with one chilly finger. "As lovely as ever. Lord Jinn, you are a very lucky man."

Qui-Gon heard and logged the distinctly green tone of the Senator's voice. He allowed himself to be guided to the rooftop gardens and accepted a glass of bubbling wine. // Wha' th' hell is this shite? Tastes like carbonated piss. //

Obi-Wan sank gracefully to a cushion provided for him at his host's feet. // Cut it out!! I refuse to snort for you or anyone! They'll say it's a miracle and whisk me away to the Temple if I pass wine through my nose!! //

He took the bottle from its silver server and filled a crystal glass for the Senator who took it with a warm smile.

"I'd be honoured if you would perform the cleansing ceremony this evening, Obi-Wan. And pour the tea for us."

The Padawan nodded with a bright smile. It meant his Master was the guest of honour and he was to share in hosting what promised to be an elaborate banquet.

After four more glasses of the pale golden wine, Obi-Wan had relaxed. There were four other guests with their Padawans, the Senator's Senior Aide and a friend of Palpatine's named Tarek who was the most celebrated Living Treasure of the Coruscant theatre. The low banquet table was a shimmering expanse of satinwood.

A human servant brought in a tray with several sprays of flowers and a single vase.

Palpatine smiled down at Obi-Wan indulgently. "I know I should not abuse a guest like this, but I miss your skill with the flowers."

He looked across at Qui-Gon. "Obi-Wan used to arrange the flowers for all my affairs. He has a rare talent for them. Would it be amiss for him to show off his ability with this meagre offering?"

Qui-Gon nodded his assent. "Of course, Senator. I'm sure he'd be pleased t' oblige an old friend." His voice was silky.

Obi-Wan stared down at the tray and tried not to bite his lip. Meagre offering, indeed!! Those three sprays were the rarest of imported blossoms and feather-leaves, worth a new transport. He let himself lift the senifleur branch carefully, twining the wire around it to bend the delicate stalk into a curve. Deftly, he repeated the action with the feather-leaves, leaving the russet-coloured dranapod stalk for last. His touch was sure as he placed one, then another in the pale green vase. At least he hadn't lost that particular skill, even if the other padawans must have noticed how his fingers trembled, making the bell-shaped blossoms quiver on their silver-white stems. It had been a long time since his old skills had been appreciated.

The Senator admired his work, reaching out to run a finger along the coppery braid swinging close to Obi-Wan's cheek.

"Exquisite, as always. I chose the dranapods especially for you. They always remind me of the colour of your hair."

// F'ghods sake could he pour it on any thicker? // Qui-Gon sounded disgusted.

Obi-Wan shot him a hurt look and refused to answer.

The meal being a full formal affair, Obi-Wan was seated beside his host, while Qui-Gon was at the head of the table as befitted an honoured guest. The rest of the party was balanced around the beautiful table in strict order of precedence. As the meal chime rang, the servants brought in the fragile cleansing bowls. Obi-Wan filled each from the silver ewer to be brought to each of the padawans and the Senator's aide. He took his host's hand and dipped the fingers into the scented water, his own gentle and warm. Palpatine gave his hand a soft pat under cover of the linen towel, his eyes sympathetic.

The rest of the meal was something of a nightmare. Obi-Wan had kept up his light conversation for as long as he could, but he was all too aware of the other padawans' condescending stares and whispers, of his Master's sardonic looks, and his own increasing unhappiness. Was it such a terrible thing for him to enjoy being appreciated as he had been trained and taught? He didn't mind Qui-Gon's flashes of jealousy, even relished them a little. There was no need for his big Master to be jealous: Obi-Wan knew where his heart belonged. He simply wished that Qui-Gon understood his world a little better.

By the end of the meal, Obi-Wan knew he had had too many glasses of wine and had lapsed into silence. The other padawans exchanged knowing looks and joined their respective Masters in the gardens for after-dinner drinks. Obi-Wan watched the sunset through the long windows with sad eyes. Qui-Gon and Tarek had struck up a lively conversation. Evidently, the actor knew more than a little about Remwara and while they were talking nineteen to the dozen, Obi-Wan sat alone at the table, feeling forgotten and very melancholy.

Senator Palpatine stood in the doorway, watching the forlorn padawan for a moment. The sunset turned his ruddy hair to flame.

"Poor Obi-Wan. It must be hard for you to come back here now." the politician sat down and poured the boy another glass before he could refuse.

Obi-Wan sighed. "It seems -- I don't know. Different." He tried to smile and thought of at least a dozen lively little speeches to amuse his host. They all died on his lips and he dropped his gaze to the floor to hide a sudden rush of tears.

Thankfully, Palpatine didn't answer, but simply patted his shoulder sympathetically. They sat together in the deepening orange light for a long time. When Obi-Wan raised his head, his eyes were too bright.

"Thank you for such a lovely welcome home." he whispered, fingers plucking at the golden sash of his new robes. "You've always been so good to me."

The Senator touched his cheek gently. "You will always be dear to me, child. I've never wanted anything but your happiness. Tell me, Obi-Wan. Are you happy?"

Such a simple question deserved a simple answer. There were no simple answers for it in Obi-Wan's vocabulary just now. He could hear the low murmur of talk out on the terrace, compared it in his mind to the loud laughter around the giant fireplace in his Master's Great Hall. He loved Qui-Gon and felt a rush of shame at his own disloyalty. Would he always feel so divided against himself? Unbidden, he found himself wondering what his life would have been, had his sponsor purchased him all those months past. There would have been no sabres, no katas, no ancient warriors. Would there have been love? He wasn't sure.

Palpatine took his hand and held it gently. "Obi-Wan, no matter what happens you will always have a place in my heart. Don't ever doubt that. If I can ever be a source of joy in your life, I would welcome it."

Obi-Wan smiled gratefully and pressed a small kiss on the Senator's knuckle.

Unfortunately, Qui-Gon caught sight of that action in the growing twilight. It did little to lighten his mood.

* * *

It was well-past midhour when the hovercar finally collected them at the glow-lit docking pad. Qui-Gon had been increasingly frosty all evening and pulled Obi-Wan into the car with a less than gentle touch.

There was a long silence and the padawan watched the softly lit tower fade into the traffic pattern below them. He spun a branch of flowering rosalis between his fingers. He was a bit giddy and glad he was seated. Thankfully, no one had noticed his little stumble over the steps to the car except his Master, who was studiously ignoring him.

Suddenly, Qui-Gon spoke in the humming darkness.

"Ya made a damned fool o' yourself t'night."

Stung, Obi-Wan felt a flash of anger. "I believe my behavior was perfectly acceptable." he said softly.

"Acceptable t' who? That pack of leerin' vulpines? Ya might as well have kissed his bloody feet!" Qui-Gon stretched out his legs. "I should've known ya'd revert t'type here."

Obi-Wan's eyes were silver-still in the moving light. "And what type would that be? Master?" he asked icily.

His Master moved with lightening speed and he found himself face-forward in a corner of the car, one hand pressed to his cheek. The tears that had threatened all evening began to spill.

"Don't take that tone wi' me. I've had quite enough o' you playin' the tart for one night."

Through his tears, Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. He'd done nothing wrong, had behaved perfectly. Well, perhaps he'd been a bit blue and perhaps he'd drunk just a little too much. The unfairness of the accusation hurt more than he could bear and he huddled into the padded wall of the car, his tears hot and angry against his burning cheek. There would be another bruise in the morning.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, Qui-Gon brooding and glaring out the window, Obi-Wan struggling to keep from sobbing aloud. When they arrived at their quarters, his Master kicked the door open.

"Get inside. I'll be back later."

He yanked Obi-Wan by one arm and almost threw him headlong from the car. The doorman caught him with a surprised grunt and set him on his feet.

The car disappeared into the Coruscant night.

Obi-Wan squared his shoulders and allowed the doorman to escort him into the lobby and set the lift. The lift operator helped him into the car and stole appreciative glances at him all through the agonising minutes to the 185th floor. Gathering what shreds remained of his dignity, Obi-Wan hid his face behind his fan and allowed himself to be escorted down the hall to his quarters.

He palmed open the door, kicking off his sandals and threw his fan onto the hallstand. Even in the low light, he could see the bluish mark on his right cheek in the mirror. He swiped at his tearwet face angrily and started towards the bedroom when the lights blazed, blinding him. He stumbled a little over the folds of his robes and leaned against the door, his lips quivering.

Quietly, he opened the door and disappeared inside, unaware of Zath's eyes boring into the doorway from the shadows.

He undressed hurriedly and threw on his nightrobe, stalking out into the main room only to grab a bottle of the fizzing wine from the bar. Then he drew a bath and sank into the hot water with the bottle, not bothering with a glass. He couldn't remember when fine champagne had tasted so bitter and salty.

* * *

Jax and Tyrrl flanked Qui-Gon at the tavern table. Mace's eyes were concerned.

"I'm tired and I've na patience for anymore o' this. Any more questions?"

Mace tried to keep his voice gentle. It was clear that Qui-Gon was in a truly foul mood. It was equally impossible to keep him from filling that damned tumbler with brandy.

"Qui-Gon we need a date. Now. When should we have the fleet land? You're in charge here and you are no good to anyone if you drink yourself to the sublevels and back."

The big man glared at him through bloodshot eyes. "Don't start tha' wi' me. I want 'em here in three days' time. No changes. We hit hard and wi' everythin' we've got five days from now on my command. Get the reserves lined up. I want backup available if the Guards become a bloody problem." His eyes closed. "Now I've got t'get back before I'm missed. Keep comlinks open on our channel only. We'll get one shot at this. If we fail..."

His eyes were distant. "We canna fail." His lips tightened. "We simply canna fail now."


	22. Chapter 22

XXII

Obi-Wan relaxed back into the suds, tipping the bottle and spilling the cold wine over his face. He was still angry and hurt and the icy chill burned down his neck. He knew he was now more than a little drunk and he finished the champagne, tossing the bottle across the tiled floor in a fit of petulance.

The clink-clank sound of it rolling away did nothing to make him feel any better. He knew he was being silly and childish, and that made him even madder. He yanked on the bellrope hard.

Zath glared into the bathroom.

"Wot?"

"More of that." Obi-Wan pointed one soapy finger at the still-rolling bottle.

Zath smiled. The boy was drunk, almost slurring. It would make things very simple. He retrieved another bottle from the bar and waited.

* * *

Qui-Gon glared over the table at Mace and Jax. Tryyl managed to ignore his irate chief, involved in his calculations and his datapad.

"So. What in hell did ya do that for, Mace!!? Under no circumstances. I willna have it!!" His voice was getting lower and rougher, a very bad sign.

Mace sighed and tried to reach into the Force for patience. The ghods only knew how difficult Qui-Gon could be if crossed.

"I did what I thought best. She's the best healer we have."

"Maera Dubh's a devil-cat from hell!"

"Qui-Gon, please, you--" Mace's voice was soft and soothing.

The big man's chair plunged backwards. "Who th' hell is in charge o' this?!! How dare you!!?" he was bellowing now. Mace smiled. At least his voice hadn't dropped to a whisper. Qui-Gon's infrequent murmurs were more dangerous than any amount of shouting.

"Oh, quit arguing, both o' you!!" Jax faced his cousin with even grey eyes. "You can stop that shite right now!! Go back and get some sleep. And stop worryin'!! Ya bloody think we're all children!?"

Qui-Gon raised one eyebrow, then his lips twisted into a grin. He gulped down the rest of his brandy.

"Damn prissy banquet!!! Ghods, I'm starvin'. C'mon. Let's find some real food first. I never can sleep on an empty belly."

* * *

Obi-Wan struggled out of the tub and stumbled into the bedroom, his nightrobe sliding down one shoulder. He swayed a moment in the dim glow-light. The second bottle was nearly empty and he was already getting a headache. He threw himself down across the bed, staring dully at the traffic patterns outside, then let himself drift away on the soft, ceaseless hum of Coruscant's night.

Zath padded to the door and opened it silently. The man who pushed him to one side was a giant, nearly as big as his Master, with a harsh, handsome face.

"So. Where's the brat?"

Zath pointed to the bedroom. He plucked at the braided sleeve. "He's a Force-user."

The Republican Guard sneered. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

Zath checked the bedroom and motioned the Guard inside.

Obi-Wan had fallen asleep clutching a pillow, his hair drifting across the pale gold silken coverlet, his lips parted. The russet lashes dusted his cheeks, quivering with dreams.

The big Guard hissed, holding up the heavy Padawan plait. "What the hell is this!!? I'll not touch him, you fool!!"

"And let Darial knaow? Doubt tha'!! " Zath blustered under his breath. The boy sighed, and shifted slightly.

"Well, get rid of it!! I'll hold him."

Obi-Wan felt the weight beside him on the bed and roused, smiling a little. His anger was long past and he reached up, eyes closed. The big hands on his shoulders were warm and he leaned back when a warning whisper flooded his consciousness, a sense of danger and an unfamiliar scent. His eyes flew open as the Guard looped a flexible collar around his throat. Immediately, both implants dug deep into his neck, stifling his screams. He twisted violently against powerful arms, as his sense of reality dipped and swayed dangerously. Any attempts to cry for help were distorted to incoherent whimpers as both mechanicals delved into his nervous system, disabling speech and numbing his sense of the Force. Zath swayed into his dizzy vision, clipping a pair of scissors with a grin.

"Naow, this is a real pleasure!!" He hissed, pulling the braid taut and sawing at it raggedly with ill-disguised glee.

Obi-Wan squirmed and struggled, his eyes half-mad with terror. The arms held him securely, his legs twisted in the covers. He sagged against the man holding him, disoriented, and still trying frantically to scream. The only sounds were his gasping moans and the sound of the scissors against his braid; a coarse severence, like nails against slate. His mind was shrieking one word. Master. It echoed inside his head like a lost chord and he knew, despairingly, that he was alone.

Half-fainting, he was yanked around to face his unknown captor. He saw blue eyes, a lantern jaw, very white teeth. Then he was lifted up, his robe torn from his shoulders. Naked and locked inside a mind gone numb with shock, he was pushed down into oblivion as the Guard sealed the anti-grav stasis tube over him.

* * *

It was very late when Qui-Gon got back to their quarters. He was bleary with lack of sleep and a heavy meal. He was already well-inside the door when his head snapped up like a wolf in a winter wind. Three strides and he was staring at the wreck of the bed, the coverlet twisted into a knot. He didn't need to be told that Obi-Wan was gone.

"Mace!!" Qui-Gon punched at the comlink with ice-cold fingers. "Mace, dammit!! Answer me!!!"

"Yes. What is it?"

"He's gone. Obi-Wan. He's gone."

Zath had stumbled sleepily to the door, rubbing his eyes.

"Maister?"

The blue eyes narrowed into icy slits. "Get over here and bring the others. Now." He turned to Zath.

"Where's the boy?"

Qui-Gon's voice was so soft Zath had to strain to hear it.

"Boy? Dunno. Ain't he here? He spent hours i' th' tub."

Qui-Gon strode into the bath and let his mind drift. Yes, Obi-Wan had been there, had been angry and a little drunk and feeling rather sorry for himself. Despite the cold pit where his stomach had resided, Qui-Gon smiled. He'd been very hard on the boy. Ah well, time for that kind of regret later.

He moved into the common quarters and glanced at the sideboard. Zath had struggled into his robe and handed him a glass from the waiting bottle. He took a sip, licking his lips and regarding his treacherous servant through hooded eyes. Sopfor powder. Not too much, but enough to put a few men soundly to sleep. He took a long drink with a smirk and sat down, stretching out his legs and indicated for Zath to help get his boots extricated from his shins.

* * *

The stasis tube opened and he was in hell. He tried to fight. He used every trick he thought he knew, battled with every bit of his strength. Nothing helped. He lay, helpless and splayed out, listening to the hateful whispers in his ear. He felt every caress, struggling to contain his revolted stomach, seeking anywhere in his mind to escape.

The Guard who had taken him away was named Hyrass. He should have been called Monster. Obi-Wan, who had never once been touched without affection at the very least; whose heart belonged with his body and his soul in Qui-Gon's embrace, found a small corner of his pysche in which to hide himself, but he couldn't hide from the pain. Hyrass had bound him, spread out like a banquet against the icy steel table. The hands along his legs were hard and calloused, the fingers rough against his inner thigh. One of those hateful hands wrapped itself around his testicles, squeezing hard enough to make the shocked and terrified padawan sob. His voice was gone, distorted into soft whimpers that should have been ear-splitting shrieks. The Force-senses that were as much a part of him as his sight or hearing were wavering, elusive shadows he could not grasp. A finger pushed inside him hard and his face twisted in pain.

"You're just lovely. I'll have some fun with you first before I send you down there for prepping. Too bad. You won't look quite so pretty when the droids are done with you."

The finger was withdrawn, only to be replaced by something harder and bigger and icy cold. It moved upwards, tearing into his body and swelling.

"That's a slaver's probe. It'll keep you occupied until I can get back from my shift. Then, little one, we'll get to know each other."

Obi-Wan's enhanced sensitivities were a nightmare. What would have been mildly painful was excruciating. The probe's netting laced around his balls in crushing agony. He could not help his body's betraying response to its movements inside him, forcing an arousal that was promptly looped and sheathed in more tensile metal.

Hyrass leaned down to whisper in his ear. "It will keep you on the edge. Never over and never under. Just right, like the porridge in the story. Think you can wait for me for a few hours? It might hurt a little after, say, three or four. Don't worry. I'll make sure you'll get a full workout later."

Then he was alone with his shame and his terror.


	23. Chapter 23

XXIII

Jax and Mace hurried into Qui-Gon's quarters, fully expecting to find him roaring orders like a wounded bear. Instead, he was quietly sipping a drink, his long legs slung over the arm of the chair. Neither missed the ever-widening terror in the servant's eyes as he silently offered them both glasses.

"I think we need another bottle, Zath. Wouldn't ya say so?" Jinn's voice was deathly soft.

"Raight away, Maister." The man's hands shook as he uncorked it. Qui-Gon had consumed the better part of that doctored bottle in record time, evincing not the slightest effect of either the Sopfor or the alcohol.

Mace sat down across from his lounging chief. "You said the boy's gone missing? How is that possible?"

"Not sure o'that myself. Any ideas, Zath?"

"N-naow. Couldn't say, Maister."

Jax raised an eyebrow. "Who d'ye contact about missing padawans around here?"

All eyes were focused on the sweating servant. "H-Haow---I dunno." he mumbled, half-choking on his own fear.

Qui-Gon swung his legs around suddenly and walked into Zath's small chamber. Still seeking escape, Zath tried to head for the main door and found his way blocked by Jax. Qui-Gon's eyes half-closed, their expression distant for a long, silent moment. Then he dug into the small chest of drawers, rising with the long, heavy plait of hair, still twined with blue ribbons and starred with dying flowers, gripped in a white-knuckled fist.

"And how would this be gettin' here?" It was the merest ghost of a whisper.

"I--I--" Zath shrank back against the wall, eyes darting two and fro, searching for any path to freedom.

"Then look into my eyes an' tell me." Qui-Gon's voice was a deadly hiss. His eyes went blank, nearly white and transparent and the cringing servant was locked into his gaze like a rodent mesmerised by a snake. Relentlessly, Qui-Gon tore into his mind, ripping the knowledge out of him along with sanity and sensation.

Jax watched impassively. Mace might be horror-struck at his cousin's brute force but he knew Qui-Gon's abilities and temperament better. It was never a good idea to try to cheat or lie with the big man and it was deadly to attempt to betray him. Zath's entire body shuddered spasmodically, then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

"Keep that thing alive until I need him." Qui-Gon growled. He yanked his boots back on and indicated the comlink.

"Contact Senator Darial. He's th' Temple Guardian. Tell him I'm on my way right now and he'd better have some answers f'me."

* * *

Darial slammed the comlink down hard, damning his fate to every Sith hell and back. He should have known that Force-cursed servant was too brainless to be any good. Ghods, but he was in serious trouble now. From the communication he had received, Lord Jinn was furious and rightly so. Not only had his padawan been abducted from the Temple itself, but this was 'the' padawan, the one whose price was so staggering as to become legendary. Should the boy be harmed or damaged, the Temple itself would be hard-pressed to return the price. Should Lord Jinn claim damages...Darial went chalk-white. He knew enough about Qui-Gon Jinn to know he could and would bankrupt the entire Temple. He also knew that his own superior would have his head on a platter for allowing something so monstrous to happen. Why, oh why had he taken Zath's word about a bedslave? He punched in Hyrass' code and hoped beyond hope that nothing had happened to the boy yet.

* * *

Obi-Wan rolled in a hazy blanket of anguish. Hours before, his limbs had gone numb. He existed in a weird half-life, pain and pleasure so cruelly twined that he could no longer distinguish one from the other. All his sensations centred around his swollen, aching genitals, kept in a frenzied state of miserable arousal by the probe. His frantic terror was gone, frozen into horrified paralysis. He was already irrevocably damaged, despoiled of his braid, stripped and left in this hellish place of suffering and humiliation. Where was his Master? Why had Qui-Gon left him to such a fate? His mind blanked on him again as he came within a gasp of orgasm and was pulled back down by the tightening metal sheath around his cock. He thought he had run out of tears, but they streamed down his face to pool on the chill, hard surface of the table, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

He thought he must faint, but he never did.

Relief poured through him like a flood as the horrid thing was shut down and pulled out of his twitching body. Something like a sigh welled in his chest and he tumbled into semi-consciousness, only to be dragged back to his agonised senses by rough hands against his hypersensitised skin.

"Miss me, pretty?"

A sob caught in his throat. Bad as the probe had been, it was nothing compared to the brutal grasp of Hyrass' hands. The Republican Guard was alight with need: the Guards were genetically manufactured creatures, made for combat, in an eternal state of readiness. Unfortunately, the cloning codes that made them such tireless soldiers also made them sexually insatiable. Temple rejects and young convicts comprised the bulk of the harems required to slake their unappeasable needs. Few survived the vicious and continual use very long.

Obi-Wan hid in that tiny corner of his mind, crouching there in terror and pain as the big man shoved his bound legs even further apart, pushing into his sore body dry. He felt his insides tearing, the hands on his shoulders bruising. What should have been his screams were pitiful little gasps and moans, torn from a throat already aching with tears. His head was yanked up by his sweat-soaked hair, the fetid breath close to his ear. Each thrust was accompanied by a grunt, harder and more painful until he was riding a wave of pure agony. A harsh shout and Hyrass finally exploded and collapsed crushingly atop Obi-Wan's trembling body.

"Hmmmm. Not bad." Hyrass panted. "But I want to try you out in a few other ways." He pulled the handful of hair hard. "Nice handle, this mop is. You'll have to lose it, of course. Too bad, but such a pain to hose you down with it." His grip tightened until he had yanked out a good clump of it.

He untied the dazed boy, ignoring the blood spattering the pale skin and shoved his legs up, entering him again. This time he slid inside easily, the torn passage lubricated with blood and semen. Obi-Wan's eyes were rolling back and the Guard slapped him awake, never once losing his stride. He continued to pump at the tender body until no amount of prodding would hold his victim to consciousness. It did not matter. He kept up his brutal assault even as Obi-Wan lolled in his grip, wakened, then fainted again.

Obi-Wan had no way to gauge how long it had been. He knew only that the pain was so intense he would drift beyond it, to a place where he was hardly aware of his body. It was a cruel shock when Hyrass grabbed hold of his cock and began to pump it, resensitising him and bringing him to unwilling completion. There was no longer any need for restraints. He was helpless to fight or flee as Hyrass alternately rained blows on him or pushed into him over and over until he felt as though he had been wrenched inside-out. It was a sorry kind of relief when he was shoved to his knees and forced to take the big cock, slick with his own blood, into his mouth. He gagged, and was rewarded with another series of brutal blows. The hard organ was pushed between his split lips and this time he obeyed, focused entirely on keeping his throat open and his stomach still.

When Hyrass pulled away, finally sated down the Padawan's throat, he collapsed forward at the man's feet. He barely registered it when he was pulled to his feet and handed over to a pair of droids who efficiently thrust bacta tubes up his bleeding anus and down his throat before sealing him in a coffin-like stasis chamber, one of hundreds lining a wall, each containing a brutalised victim being healed for another day's torture.

* * *

Qui-Gon eyed Junior Senator Darial as a Gafkusan tiger-cat might watch prospective prey. He prowled about the elegant office, his long strides sinking into the carpet with deliberate, heel-grinding precision.

"I suggest ya get movin' and find my Padawan. Meantime, I'm goin' to th' Council."

He leaned over the desk, staring deep into the frightened man's dark eyes. There was real terror there, and memory and guilt. A grim smile twisted Qui-Gon's lips.

"You'd best tell yer bloody owner I want him back. And it he's harmed or hurt in any way, I hold you responsible. Ya hear me?"

He swept out of the office in a flurry of dark blue velvet and stomping bootheels. Jax kept up with him easily.

"He knows something."

Qui-Gon paused for a moment, staring out at Coruscant's sunny day, hovercars blinking in the light. He seemed older, the lines around eyes and mouth cutting hard shadows across his face.

"Aye, I know it. Ah, ghods, Jax. I've an image of one of the Guards from Zath's mind. Same face here. What in hell could they want wi' the boy?"

Jax shook his head, grimacing into a blond beard. "Dunno, Qui. I saw the same thing. Let me and Tryyl poke about. We're less conspicuous."

"I've no time f'that!" Qui-Gon's voice was measured and calm, but there was a world of hurt underneath its soft tones. Jax laid a hand on his arm tentatively.

"It'll be all right, cousin. We'll find him."

"Aye, we'll find him." The blue eyes were exhausted with fear, pain and sleeplessness. "I just hope..."

"Don't think it. "

Jax followed his chief down the corridor towards the Temple, worried and afraid. The look in Qui-Gon's face was almost more than he could bear to see. In it was loss, regret, and the very real fear that he might not be able to pluck victory from thin air this time. He knew his cousin blamed himself for not getting back to their quarters earlier and for his jealous treatment of the boy. He also knew what Qui-Gon could not, would not admit: that his fear was born of love. Jax took a moment to clear his mind and hoped they could find Obi-Wan quickly, before the fleet arrived and Qui-Gon was embroiled in a full-scale invasion.

* * *

Darial's fingers shook as he punched in the code to Hyrass. It was answered abruptly.

"Hyrass!!! Damn it, where's the brat?"

The Guard's voice was a clipped and whisper. "I can't talk here. Which brat?"

"The one last night. From the Temple Guest quarters."

He heard movements and rustling. The politician's voice was low and vicious "Listen, you idiot. He's a padawan. You must have seen that. You didn't harm him, did you."

"Harm him?" Hyrass growled. "Are you crazy? He's a good time, Darial. He'll have been prepped by now."

Darial thought he would faint as all the blood ran from his face. His mind raced to and fro like a jumping holo-vid screen. His decision made, he leaned into the comlink.

"Kill him. Kill him now and get rid of the body. Do you hear me? Don't wait. Just do it."

Hyrass stared down at the comlink for a moment, one eyebrow cocked. His politician friend must be in some serious trouble. His teeth gleamed in a smile.

"Not yet. I want my due, Senator."

"Whatever you want. Just get rid of the boy fast." Darial's words tumbled from his lips in a rushed whisper. "I'll replace him three times over. I'll let you pick any of the Initiates you want. Just get rid of that one!!"

"All right." Hyrass' grin deepened. He could hear the relief in the Senator's voice.

"Hyrass?"

"Yes, Senator."

"Make sure the body disappears. He must not be found."

"Sure, Senator." Hyrass clicked off the palm-sized machine with a flash of white teeth, predatory in the dim corner he'd slid to during the communication. Let Senator Darial Brilk wait a while and sweat, he thought. No sense to not enjoy the brat a bit more. Time and enough to dispose of what might be left.

* * *

The Jedi Temple Council was enjoying the lovely view from the Temple Tower, discussing various new courses of study and savouring a pleasant mid-day meal when the huge doors flew back with such violence they shook the entire chamber. It was a shocked and amazed dozen demurely-robed Councilors staring at the tall Remwaran whose eyes were blazing light jets.

"I've na time for sweet talkin' the likes o' you lot. I've but one thing t'tell you. My padawan has been abducted. If he's harmed in any way, hurt in any fashion." The glowing eyes swept the room. "If any more than this has happened to hurt him, I will expect what your own laws provide." He held up the severed braid, flicking it across his gloved palm.

Jinn smiled dangerously. "I hope yer finances are in order."

Without another word, he strode to the door, then turned. "And dinna think ya can put me off. I'll na tolerate it. " He looked pointedly at the huge, new chandelier above the centre of the room. It began to sway, the delicate prisms glinting and tinkling like chimes, then suddenly dropped with a crash, scattering crystals and floor tiles at the frozen Council members pedicured feet. His eyes were narrowed to slits.

"Dinna try my patience." He spun out of the door, leaving a crowd too terrified to even murmur.

Outside the Council Chamber, Jax fell into step beside him. "Aren't ya showin' your hand?"

Qui-Gon's lips twitched. "It's time they knew what they're dealin' wi'. " He paused in one of the great glass hallways and stared out over the bustling city.

"I must know how t'get to the Guardhouse. He's got t' be there."

"Qui-Gon, leave it!! The fleet's nearly in place. You're needed. Let Tryyl and I look."

The pale light of Coruscant's winter sun glinted in the silver of his hair as he shook his head. There seemed much more of it than there had been a day earlier.

"I canna do that."

"Qui-Gon, ya'll jeopardise everything we've worked for. We can lose any number of fighters, but we canna lose you."

Qui-Gon was not listening. "Get Mace here now. Have him meet me below."

He took Jax by the shoulders, his blue eyes tired and afraid. "I have t'find him myself. 'Tis honour, Jax. I must do it."

Jax grimaced and nodded. "I'll comm Mace and get to Syrene."

Qui-Gon was already half-way down the corridor.

* * *

Obi-Wan was borne along, bound to a grav-unit. Distantly, he was glad of it, sure that he could not possibly walk. His eyes were nearly black in a face so white and strained he might have been wearing the old, traditional make-up. Earlier, droids had pulled him from the stasis bank and taken him to a white, staring chamber. He had been secured in a tiled enclosure while a droid methodically sheared his hair off close to the scalp. The rest of his body was coated with a stinging substance that removed all body hair. While the depilatory did its painful work, another tube was pushed up inside him and his bowels were thoroughly emptied twice. Finally, sonic jets were activated and shot painfully against his sore flesh. The newly-healed wounds were aching and the pain still made him twitch, the hypersensitive areas of his abused skin throbbing in time to his racing heart. Once cleaned, another droid pushed him against the grav-unit, securing his wrists and ankles. He was moved down several dim corridors, barely conscious and in too much shock to pay any attention.

He was brought to a small chamber where he was attached by a loop in the back of his collar to a steel table and left there, shivering. He huddled into a ball of trembling misery, knowing now what must follow. He did not have to wait very long.

He recognised Hyrass' voice the moment the door slid open. There were others, too, at least three or four.

"All right, little one. Time to earn your keep."

He wished he could die or disappear, anything to evade the horror of what was happening to him. He could do neither, and he hung, trapped in a reality more terrible and cruel than any nightmare. His mouth was pried open, a plasteel ring clamped in place to keep it gaping as brutal hands pulled him to his knees. One huge organ pushed into his mouth, another spearing him from behind and he was lost, so lost. Bodies moved and changed, blows alternated with numbing use and Obi-Wan turned inward. He could no longer care, could barely feel as the blood began to flow again down his legs, into his aching throat, along with semen, spit, and urine.

He was on the veranda with Garen, watching the blossoms of his favourite tree nodding in the summer breeze. Slowly, he reached out to touch the silken pale petals and watched in detached horror as they slowly turned red and shriveled away under his fingers.

He was on his back, one Guard poised above his, thrusting violently down his opened throat while another held his legs up, pulling him open for the fist that pushed deep inside him. The pain was hallucinogenic, lifting him into a blood-red haze.

He was arcing through the lake's chill waters, surfacing with a shout into his Master's strong arms. He smiled and reached up, his eyes widening as his hands circled the scorched and cauterised neck of the decapitated raider. He spiraled into the water, down further and further until the pressure choked him. He felt himself held from behind, felt the undulating curl of icy scaled skin moving against his abraded flesh. The Water-Ogre, an old creche-tale creature, pushed its wavering fingers into his anus, pulling him down to a drowned death, just like in the fairy tale.

"Go on, let it have him. No matter." Laughter bubbled through the waters of his mind, hazy and muffled.

"What is it anyway?"

"Ketasian Sal-vort. Trained to use and abuse. I think it likes him."

The slippery creature had him suspended, held in mid-air by tentacle-like limbs. Tendrils curled around his nipples, pulling them into peaks. More circled his cock and balls, another pushed down his throat. Down and further down until it was far past his gag reflex. The beast's organ unfolded past his quivering anus, pressing deeper and deeper until he shattered as both met somewhere inside his body. The whole creature pulsed and throbbed inside him, rubbing and pinching his genitals until his body exploded in a terrifying orgasm, then subsided into miserable quiescence. It continued to throb and swell until the tearing pain in his guts mercifully took away any consciousness and he began to slide into darkness.

As he began to fall away, he felt the chill that was overwhelming him.

"Just leave him here. No bacta."

"Too bad. Oh, well..."

The voices faded away.

He was so cold. The pain was nearly gone, lost in a frigid cocoon as sensation ebbed and the darkness called with soft, seductive tones.


	24. Chapter 24

XXIV

In the dim corridors of the Temple, one never expected running feet. Shouting was out of the question, yet Obi-Wan was roused by muffled yells. The servant-companion his sponsor had given him two months ago snored heavily in the small ante-room of his quarters. Obi-Wan sat up groggily. The banquet that night had been so long and he had drunk so much wine! His head ached a little and he wrinkled his nose. There was an acrid smell in the air. Sniffing, he cautiously slid out of his high bed, his toes reaching for the floor. He slipped on his sandals and grabbed an over-robe, urgently whispering to Saoric.

"Get up. Get up!! Something's wrong!"

"Wha'? The tall servant bolted upright, took a long breath and raised a big, seven-fingered hand to the chamber's door. It was hot.

"Obi-Wan, I need you to stay calm. Can you do that?" Saoric's large eyes were dark pools in the shadows.

Obi-Wan identified the smell: smoke. There was a fire. He began to tremble, biting his lower lip and nodded. Billows of grey-white smoke began to drift under the door and Saoric grabbed him and fled to the balcony. From there, they could see the flames dancing in the corridor's transparent length. There was no where to go but down.

He couldn't move he was so frightened. He was only twelve years old and even to adult eyes, the Creche Tower was enormous. He was shivering as Saoric lifted him over the railing onto his back and began the climb down to the next story. Obi-Wan could hear the beating of his own heart in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face buried in Saoric's pale blue hair. The cold seemed to envelop him completely...

He was singing in his favourite garden, all alone and enjoying a warm summer's day. Slightly offkey, he warbled a tune at a bumble-bee, laughing aloud when his breaking voice betrayed him with a colouratura squeak. Lucky for him no one was there to reprimand him...

He knelt at a formal autumn banquet, wondering what pin was stabbing him from his sash. Saoric must have forgotten to remove them. He shifted on his knees a little, then gasped in real agony...

He was still there, staring at a cold, white ceiling. A tearing pain pulled inside him, and he wanted to curl up into a ball, but he couldn't seem to make himself move. His eyes swam as he rode out the spasm, then sank again into dreams.

* * *

Mace followed Qui-Gon into the passage-ways below the Senate complex. Both seemed to melt into the shadows when passed. No one noticed or commented on their presence. Jinn moved with astonishing speed and silence for a man so big. They paused outside a formidable-looking door.

"Tha's it." Qui-Gon murmured. "Get Jax down here. And Tryyl. We'll need them." He pulled back into an alcove as a pair of Guards passed them, palmed open the door and disappeared into the grey, utilitarian corridor. Only his eyes caught the light. Mace watched them, gleaming and beautiful, like the deceptive gasjet explosions of a Bedeliian fireswamp.

* * *

Darial stammered his way through the Council's interview and retreated to his office, his mind a whirlwind of fear. He could only hope that Hyrass had reduced that Sith-spawned Padawan into cinders before Lord Jinn got wind of what had occurred. It would be easy enough to spin-doctor a tale of the Poor Pitiful Padawan, so revolted and terrified by his barbaric Master, that he chose to disgrace himself and the Temple by running off into the night, never to be found. It would place the blame solidly on Jinn's shoulders, and the brat's. The Temple would have to return the purchase price, which was bad, but he could handle that with a little help from his Mid-Rim friends in the Xaennon casinos. At least they wouldn't have to pay damages if his story was accepted. A runaway Padawan was responsible for his own dishonour. Even if Hyrass failed to hide the body adequately, the boy's death could be easily labelled a suicide. Either way, Darial felt safe enough to begin his report to Senior Senator Palpatine.

* * *

Tryyl worked the palming mechanism open with his usual technical skill and the four Jedi moved into the corridor warily, following Qui-Gon's lead. The place was cold and barren and the Force around it stank of death and despair. Jax poked his head into a large chamber, eyeing the tiled cubicles, then turning his attention to the wall. It looked like a mausoleum of some sort.

"Tryyl, I sense somethin' here. Can you get this open?" he hissed.

Neither one could speak as the stasis bank doors all opened simultaneously. They could only stare in horror at the wall-full of victims, held in a frozen parody of healing. Dimly, Tryyl turned from the rows of young bodies to hear his cousin retching against the far wall.

"F'all the ghods sakes, Jax!! Don't let Qui-Gon see this."

"See what?"

The silence in that chamber of hoped-for death was eerie. Mace's vision blurred.

Quietly, Qui-Gon palmed the stasis-bank closed. He threw his comlink at Tryyl. "Get the fleet commander. Tell him to change the target coordinates and get me a ground crew. Now."

"Jinn, no!! It's too soon. We've only half the fleet in place and---"

Mace's voice faltered. Qui-Gon's eyes were pale and still.

"And leave them here? Ya know the first thing they'll do is shut down life support. I'll na leave one for those monsters. Y'hear me!" He was striding towards a inner corridor lined with small chambers.

"Not one!" He hissed over his shoulder, beckoning Mace. "You two, cover our backs."

The hallway grew longer and longer. It seemed he would never reach the place where he could feel Obi-Wan's presence, hazy and distorted and weak.

The closest thing he could compare it too was falling through the ice on the lake once, when he was very young; the stabbing chill that threatened to rob him of sense or momentum. His whole body went cold, his breath the only sound.

Obi-Wan lay sprawled on a steel table, limbs twisted in a mockery of abandon. Qui-Gon doubted for a moment that it could be his Padawan, this bruised and blue-lipped ragdoll. Where was the golden warmth of his skin, the russet waves of hair that had drifted across his face in slumber?

Qui-Gon's hands shook uncontrollably as he reached for the collar and Mace stopped him gently.

"Easy. We'll have to do this together. Those implants go deep. If you just pull it free, you'll tear his throat out."

Each moment was a small century as Qui-Gon eased the implants out of the bruise-mottled neck while Mace's dark hands covered the punctures to heal them. Obi-Wan's Force signature finally sang clear and the song in Qui-Gon's mind was a farewell. Nearly frozen with horror, it took every bit of his discipline to gently lift the limp body and wrap his cloak around it. The boy lolled in his arms, shorn head drooping like the flower stripped of petals, hanging from a broken stalk. He was growing weaker by the moment.

"Mace, I've got to get him to the Syrene. He needs a healer now."

Mace nodded grimly. "Jax and Tryyl will cover here."

There were footsteps in the outer corridors. Swiftly, Qui-Gon tightened his grip on his limp burden and fled to the doors. An entire troop of Guards moved at precise rhythm down the hallway. Jax and Tryyl moved forward, sabres ignited, clearing a path for Mace and Qui-Gon.

The big man raced at blurring speed, down the labyrinthine corridors to the lifts. Mace took the controls and it shot upward to the closest landing pad. Gently, Qui-Gon tucked the cloak around Obi-Wan's still form, still cradling him as the hover-car darted through Coruscant's early evening traffic. Only now did his vision seem to grow watery as he felt the rough stubble that was once a soft mane of hair beneath his chin.

"Stay wi' me, lad. Just stay here. Don't ya dare leave me now, Obi-Wan." He didn't even realise he had spoken aloud.

Within ten minutes, they had left the short-distance transport and were safely in Syrene's golden belly.

* * *

Qui-Gon stalked down to the bridge toward the sickbay, barely constrained by Obi-Wan's limp body. One hand hung loose and swung like a pale pendulum in time with the Master's long strides. The dark blue velvet cloak seemed to glow in terrible contrast to his blue-white pallor. Gently, Qui-Gon laid him down on the table, glaring at the small Healer who half-turned to watch him. Her face softened as she reached out one finger, tracing the ashen lips, eyes never once leaving Qui-Gon's face. The muscles in his cheek twitched for a moment. His lips seemed to move but there was no sound.

Then two other Healers entered the small room and he was crowded away, straining his eyes toward his still padawan until the door closed. His eyes shut, he just stood there for a long moment, then turned to the bridge.

Tryyl and Jax had sectioned off the Guardhouse and an additional dozen warriors had joined them, effectively ending armed combat. Qui-Gon slumped into the console chair.

"Syrene, I need that place locked down."

"As you wish, Dulaan." The pleasantly metallic voice sounded oddly sad.

"Target noted. Also, I need full battle-array on four locations. Can ya do it alone?"

"Yes, Dulaan, but only for a short time while holding a stasis field over this target."

"Ya won't have to keep 'em long. I'm clearin' out that wasp's nest if it kills me," he growled, hunching over the console, his big hands moving swiftly across the moving, melting controls panels.

// Trust her, Dulaan. //

Syrene did not venture any other comment. Whether or not she could see the grim twist to Qui-Gon's face, she certainly could sense his mood as he punched in a comlink to the waiting fleet commanders and began barking orders in rapid-fire Remwaran.

* * *

Obi-Wan bobbed gently in the tank, his body glowing in the pearly red fluid. The bruises were nearly gone already, and he slept deeply, without dreams. Maera Dubh turned from the bacta tank controls, her small body's movements efficient and brisk.

"Will he...?" Mace's voice was very soft.

"Oh, he'll be fine. Nice, that!!" her heart-shaped face twisted into a strange mirror of her brother's as she grimaced. "Wha' were they doin' with him?!! He's a human, not a mining project!"

"Qui-Gon's summoned the Council and the Captain of the Republican Guard."

She snorted. "Aye, and while they're palaverin' away wi' him, he'll be havin' the twin terrors clear out th' Guardhouse. Are these folk tha' sure o' themselves or d'they just have donkey's brains?!"

Mace hid a grin under a slight cough. Her blue eyes darted at him.

"Ye'll want tha' checked, too, Master Windu! Now stop clutterin' up my space. Once Jax and Tryyl get that place, there'll be a madhouse in here. Rest o' the fleet in place yet?"

"Almost."

She made a hurumphing sound, very much like her brother's occasional growl of frustration when things didn't follow his plans perfectly.

"Tha' man'll be late to his own bloody funeral. Tell him---"

"Tell me what?" Qui-Gon loomed over her. Mace swallowed another lopsided grin. Master Jinn has an uncanny way of materialising in the midst of conversations today, he thought.

Two pairs of blue eyes met, then both turned to gaze at the still form drifting in the ruby-coloured tank.

"He'll be fine," she said flatly.

There was a long, painful silence. Neither Mace nor Maera seemed to be able to keep focused on anything for long. Neither wanted to watch the way Qui-Gon's face contracted. Maera reached out and touched his hand briefly.

"Don't ya have somethin' t' loot?" she rasped. "Now get out o'here."

For a tiny moment, they eyed each other, her dark head tilted back to face him. His eyes softened, then grew diamond bright and hard.

"Aye. Mace." He beckoned and whirled out of the door.


	25. Chapter 25

XXV

Within hours, the entire planet's holonet system buzzed with the unthinkable.

Coruscant itself was hostage: the invasion fleet had secured the Jedi Temple, the Senate, and all twelve of the planet's massive environmental control plants. Coruscant, the great capital of the Republican Alliance, had crumbled beneath the stealth assault like a house of cards. The only real fighting was far below the Senate floor, where bodies had piled up like seaweed at ebb tide. Formidable as the Republican Guard were, they could not hold off trained rogue Jedi wielding lightsabres. Tryyl's clairvoyant intelligence network had been more than effective. Not only had he located the Guardhouse, but his operatives on the planet had locked down all the target areas like a swift winter wind. Once the remainder of the fleet was in place over the southern hemisphere of the planet, Qui-Gon felt secure enough to leave the bridge to Jax. He paused only to look into the sickbay, where his sister laboured.

Each ship had taken a portion of the pitiful Guardhouse victims and still they had run out of bacta tanks and were forced to use those in the horrid place. There had been only four casualties and a few minor wounds among the invaders. It was still more than their commander thought necessary. His face set in mask-like serenity, Qui-Gon filled the door to the bay, eyes burning towards the tank where Obi-Wan floated.

Maera's dark hair flew untidily about her face under the air vents.

"Get outta here!!! I dinna need you takin' up space."

Her brother glared at her. "Just tell me how he is, woman!"

She glanced over at the tank and its sleeping occupant. "He'll be fine. Now go down there and settle this before I've more t'handle!!"

* * *

The corridors of the Temple were eerily silent and empty. All the crechelings and unpurchased Padawans had been herded into the main dining hall, under guard of the invading army. The elder Padawans were inclined to bouts of tears and temper and the Creche-Masters had their hands full trying to calm them. The little ones were braver. One or two even confronted the odd warrior with big eyes and beautiful little faces set in stubborn lines. To their great surprise, their hair was ruffled with laughs and they immediately set about coaxing the strange folk with glowing swords to play games with them.

Qui-Gon's bootheels rang against the marble floor as he advanced on the Council Chamber, flanked by Tryyl and his wing commander, Kared-Ty. They were followed by a supporting battalion that separated at the great door. Half remained with Qui-Gon while the others moved inexorably towards the Senate to join Mace's force. Qui-Gon had planned his attack carefully. Internal operatives had already shut down communications from the Senate and locked the huge dome, making the entire ruling elite prisoners in the midst of their own pleasure quarters. There would be the odd skirmish or two, but without the Guards, there was little doubt that any demands would be quickly met.

The Council Chamber buzzed with low, frightened voices. Hyrass stood beside Darial and Palpatine's chairs. As Temple Guardians, they were always required in Council, especially considering the grave charges levied against Senator Darial, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His superior was not at all pleased with the turn of events. His normally bland face was grim. Darial squirmed again. Damn, he had been such a fool to trust that lying servant. Padawan Kenobi had been Senator Palpatine's pet. Worse, the Senator clearly did not believe his report of the boy's flight after the dinner party. Hyrass had no such qualms and rested his weight on one hip, staring down his accusers with an arrogant glare.

Qui-Gon strode to the centre of the chamber and turned in a slow circle, his head thrown back, eyes half-closed. His lips curled into an icy smile.

"Ya know why I'm here. My Padawan was abducted last night and subjected to such abuse as I'd not give the worst o'you."

The Temple Council Head inclined a coiffured head towards him. "You have proof of this? According to our Guardian, the Padawan in question ran away."

The snap of the big man's fingers was like the report of an ancient pistol. Two of his men yanked Zath into the room. The servant hung in their arms, his eyes completely blank. Tryyl activated a small holo-projector.

For fully half an hour, the horrified Council members listened to Zath's reports from Remwara to Darial, all carefully recorded and dated. The last entry indicated the transfer of credits from the Junior Senator's account and the conversation about the 'bedslave'.

Immediately, voices were raised in protest.

"Bedslave!!! That's no Padawan!!

"You are out of order, sir!!!"

"I demand further proof!!"

Lord Jinn whirled on them like a huge feline. "Proof is it ya want? Proof!?" His voice had dropped to a whisper.

The holo-projector now showed the terrible images of the Guardhouse. Despite the urgency of the situation and the horror of it, Qui-Gon had known that Tryyl would document every step. There again, in eerie blue-white, like a small ghost, was Obi-Wan's poor broken body, limp in its dying abandon. All noise had ceased, except for the soft sound of Senator Palpatine's footsteps leaving the chamber. Darial gulped. He was alone now.

He straightened his spine and took a long breath. "Lord Jinn, this could be manufactured!! That poor creature could be anyone. I agree that your Padawan is gone and the Temple must, in good faith, return his price. Less, of course, the year's counting. But no damages will be given. You cannot prove your case."

He finally dared to meet the big man's eyes and was surprised to find them gentle, almost kind.

"Ah, but what of this? Can ye explain this?" Jinn's voice was almost a lullaby. Darial shook off a feeling of dreamy slumber.

Then he went white. The holo-projector showed an image of Governor Meryck of Xaennon, but the audio was his own voice as they discussed shaving a percentage of the Ceruspa casinos to make up the price of a prize Padawan. How had that pirate known? The hapless Junior Senator had no way of knowing that the comlines conveniently placed about the Governor's villa had been planted by Jinn himself, months earlier. He stared back at Qui-Gon and found himself drowning in a pair of eyes that spelled death.

// Always easier t'tell the truth, Senator. //

Darial shook his head again. "What?"

// The truth... // The lilting voice echoed in his mind and he felt as though he were tumbling through a bank of clouds. He barely registered the sound of his own voice.

"Yes. Yes, I had the servant watching...he reported to me monthly...he said there was a bedslave...I called Captain Hyrass...it was too late...too late when I knew it was the Padawan..." Darial's voice drifted away dreamily.

// Yes....tha's it, the truth...// That warm voice melted in his mind, safe and soft, a resonant song.

"Yes, we owe the damages. Three times the boy's price..."

The blue eyes boring into his lit like fires. "I expect it immediately. Along wi' your arrest, of course."

The murmurs of the Council were shocked as two of Qui-Gon's men escorted Darial out of the chamber, while the man still drifted in the dreamy grasp of Qui-Gon's mind.

"But that will bankrupt us! The Temple itself!!" The Head Council ventured very low. Lord Jinn smiled at him without humour.

"I wouldna worry about it much. Ya'll have little t'say here anyway from now on. Now, you."

Qui-Gon stared at Hyrass, then pointed. "You."

"I follow orders."

"No one orders a Padawan to the Guardhouse!" one Council member protested softly. The twelve of them tittered like a flock of scared canaries lost in an eagle's eyerie.

There was a long, silent moment as the two big men faced each other. Then Hyrass smirked.

"And I suppose you'll just help yourself to my mind? Afraid to fight like a man, you overblown thief?"

Qui-Gon cocked his head to one side without a word.

"You are nothing. Nothing but a bloody pirate who fancies himself some kind of ancient Jedi!! Bah!! Coward!" Hyrass spat.

Everyone had backed to the circular chamber's windows, leaving the two men to circle each other warily. Qui-Gon handed his lightsabre over to Tryyl and took the two big knives that Kared-Ty produced from under his cloak. He tossed one to Hyrass.

"Let's say that we handle this th' way I would back home." His smile was terrifying.

Hyrass charged first, lunging forward with startling speed. Jinn parried him easily and they traded a few blows, feeling out one another's skill.

"A coward is it?" Qui-Gon's voice was low, amused. "And what are you?" He struck with blinding reflexes, slashing a long cut along the Guard's left arm. "A rapist? Murderer of children? A monster?" Qui-Gon was laughing softly, dancing out of the man's way.

Hyrass launched himself forward and sparks flew from the metal blades as they clashed and rang. They backed off again. This time Hyrass had drawn blood: Qui-Gon's right wrist pulsed crimson. He ignored it and switched swordarms although his face twisted in pain.

There was another ringing flurry of blows and Hyrass staggered back with a cut to one cheek. His eyes darkened and he plunged at Qui-Gon furiously, pulled back a moment, then pushed upward with the hilt of the long knife, connecting with the big Remwaran's jaw. Jinn arched away in a back flip and a blank, almost ecstatic expression settled on his face. His eyes grew paler until they seemed to drain of colour altogether.

When he charged forward, he was a blur. In less than a second, he had leaped over and behind the Guard.

"This is for my honour." Jinn's voice was very soft, but the muscles of his jaw tensed as he plunged the knife into Hyrass' gut and ripped upward to the collar bone. Time seemed to have frozen as the startled look on the Guard's face petrified into death and he slid down to the marble floor. Qui-Gon's eyes were blue-white lasers that swept across the chamber unseeingly as he fell to his knees. He grabbed either side of the bloody gash and yanked the tremendous wound asunder.

He flipped his mane of hair forward into the gaping torso then up again in a great arc, blood flying to spatter the watching Council, his men, the windows in a scarlet rain.

"Tha's for Obi-Wan."


	26. Chapter 26

XXVI

Maera gazed over at the ward quickly. It was her nature. All her movements were swift and short, like a small, dark bird's. Three days of unrelenting labour had left her face worn as an old coin, fine lines drawn around her blue eyes and mobile mouth. Once each of her charges left the bacta tanks, they were transferred to the Temple Infirmary, now securely in the hands of the invasion force. Nearly every bed had been filled and she was forced to commandeer quarters for the rest. Finally, she was able to leave Syrene and return to the planet's surface. She replaced her clipped steps in the cramped sickbay of the ship to equally swift little steps in the ward.

She pushed a few tendrils of wavy hair out of her face. Accustomed as she was to pain and suffering, she had never in her years experienced anything quite as grotesque and pathetic as the injuries suffered by those rescued from the Guardhouse. Normally compassionate, if brusque, she exclaimed in savage satisfaction when Jax had contacted her with the news that the last of the Guardhouse occupants was free. She grimaced and laughed shortly, knowing all too well her brother's means of liberation. Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about morgue duty.

She marched down the hallway at her usual quick pace, heedless of the beauty surrounding her. The Temple's transparent walkways gleamed in the morning light, all pale gold shimmering above Coruscant's glittering traffic. She stuck her head into a small chamber, still darkened by a shade.

"Are ya awake, lad?"

There was no answer.

Maera closed the door gently. "Obi-Wan, are ya awake?"

The bed was empty. She looked around quickly, finally picking out a shadowy form on a chair in the corner.

"Obi-Wan, it's only me."

"Who are you?" The whisper barely carried across the room.

"Maera Dubh. An' I'm your Healer. Now let me look at ya, lad." In her experience, there was no sense coddling a patient, no matter what the trauma.

"Lad?"

"Please leave me alone."

"Nonsense!! Now come over here!! Ya were perfectly capable gettin' to tha' chair!"

Slowly, the figure emerged into the light.

At once, she could see what Qui-Gon had valued in the boy besides his power in the Force. He was beautiful. The silvery transparent eyes were almost unnaturally large and long-lashed, framed by brows that seemed painted in sepia ink. Even circled and sad, those eyes were exquisite pools of light, now green, now grey-blue.

"Oh, stop it, boy!! I've seen much worse. Now let me have a look, eh?"

Silently, he came into the light, shuddering a little as it touched his wan cheek and ducking his head, as though to hide. Gently, Maera lifted his right wrist, felt for a pulse, using all her considerable skills to read deep into his mind. He remained utterly passive, and made no attempt to shield from her at all. That was not good. She pursed her lips and shifted her grip to his hand.

"Sit down, Obi-Wan."

He sank onto the bed, staring dully at his knees.

"Can ye not look at me, laddie? I'm a hard old biddie, but na that bad to look upon!" Her voice was gentle, and so much like Qui-Gon's in treble. When he looked up, his eyes were too bright.

"It'll be all right. Qui-Gon's taken th' Temple."

A little furrow creased between those beautiful brows. "What? How?"

She snorted. "He didna tell ya anythin', did he?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, then ducked it down again.

"Brainless, stubborn mule of a man!! He's been plannin' this most o' his life, child. Takin' back the Jedi. Makin' 'em what they used t'be. Hasn't he trained ya at all?"

The boy nodded, his eyes shifting between her piercing gaze and the floor in confusion.

Maera bit back a string of curses that Obi-Wan would have recognised as Qui-Gon's favourite epithets.

"Obi-Wan, y'see, he knew you were th' one. The strongest. The one he was meant t'train."

Still as a statue he remained. She squeezed the long fingers gently.

"We're a silent lot, we are. But my brother is the worst of 'em!! Damn the man for not tellin' you aught!"

"Brother?"

Maera dropped his hand and began to pace about the small room like a ruffled sparrow hawk.

"The ghods damn that fool!! Yes, Qui-Gon's my brother. Twin brother t'be exact, an' you can tell where th' brains i' the family went!! Oh, of all the stupid, idiot things he's done!! You're a smart lad, Obi-Wan. You must've known something."

"Something...once...I asked. That question in his eyes..." The soft voice drifted away and his gaze turned inward again. He shrugged.

Maera took a deep breath and sat down beside the young man.

"Ya know he's trained and powerful. Ya must know that!!"

He nodded.

"How d'ya think he got tha' way?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. Maera lifted his chin gently. "Have ya never heard o'rogues?"

Again, the boy shrugged. It was not the time. She changed the subject.

"Well, that'll keep. Meantimes, how're ya feelin'? Anythin' hurtin'?"

Another shrug, and he shook his head. "No. I'm all right." His voice was flat and unemotional, but she could sense the chasm of despair within him, the growing disconnection and confusion overwhelming him.

"Do ye remember wha' happened, lad?" Her voice was very gentle.

"I-I was angry and had too much to drink. Then, there was a man--I thought it was Master. He--he..." The young face contorted and white teeth clamped down on his lower lip.

"Shhh. It's all right. You were kidnapped."

"You mean Master didn't send me away?"

Maera thought she would choke.

"You thought that?! Oh, Obi-Wan!! Qui-Gon would never do such a thing. T'anyone, least of all, you! How could ya think such a thing!?"

Obi-Wan's head was bent, the bright stubble of his head catching the dim light. She could not have known he was hiding under a phantom curtain of hair. She had never seen him before Qui-Gon had laid him down in the sickbay, a dying whisper of light and life.

"He was angry after the party. Said I had reverted to type, that I was ..."

Maera chalked up another reason to blast her brother into oblivion when she got the chance. His temper was well-known, but that this gentle creature could imagine such a punishment for simply being himself made her furious.

Swallowing her anger, she patted his hand. "Don't ya ever think it, love. He talks a good game, but he wouldn't hurt ya."

"He hit me." The choked little whisper echoed the pain and shame in his heart.

"He's a bloody moron. Ya lived with him near a year. Ya know how it is wi' him!"

Obi-Wan finally looked up and met her eyes, his own welling full.

"No, I don't. I don't know anything anymore." His face twisted and he turned away, unable to speak.

* * *

Tryyl and Kared-Ty had managed to get Qui-Gon out of the Council chamber before he completely collapsed in exhaustion. Forty-eight hours of unremitting tension, without sleep or solace and even his resources crumbled. Still, they had to fight him every step of the way back to his Temple quarters. Finally, Tryyl got him to at least settle into meditation, where he remained for hours in a state of paradoxical sleep, neither awake nor completely unaware, like cat apparently dozing before a mousehole. It helped to rest his troubled mind and taxed body.

Mace and his battalion remained sequestered in the Senate complex, while the attack forces manned the environmental controls on the planet to force compliance. The fleet, stretched thinner than Jax would have liked, spread out over the planet, their targets carefully noted for maximum efficiency.

When Qui-Gon emerged from his meditative trance, he forced himself to check the fleet status, his ground forces, comlink after comlink with each battalion commander. All the while, his heart pulsed and ached until at times he thought he could not draw another breath. The long hours crept by as he meticulously checked and rechecked every detail, every target, arranged for the Senate meeting and finally keyed in the code to the sickbay. When one of the droids answered and informed him that Maera was on the floor, would he like to leave a message, he growled in frustration. Cursing under his breath all the way, he stalked through the Temple complex to the infirmary, sending droids and assistants flying in his wake.

He nearly collided with his sister halfway down the corridor that led to his Padawan.

"And just where th' hell do you think yer goin'?" She planted herself in front of him, neck craning up on her five-foot frame.

"I'm seein' my Padawan, woman. Get outta my way!" he growled without looking at her, his eyes straining as though able to see into that dim chamber through the walls.

She gave him a hard shove backwards. "Oh no yer not!! You're not goin' in there like tha'!!!"

His eyes hardened as he stared down at her. "Be off wi' ya or I swear I've always thought ya needed a clip to th'jaw..." the words whistled through his teeth.

"No, you're not!!! An' this is my ward. I'd not let ya anywhere lookin' like tha'!! Ya'd scare the Sith Laird himself, ya cretinous great oaf!"

"Like what, you..." His voice trailed off as he got a good look at his reflection in the twilit corridor wall. His hair hung in stiff knots, caked with dried blood that cascaded down his tunic, staining the fabric with splotches of red-brown. The faint metallic smell of it clung to him like a sickly sweet cloud. His face was streaked and dappled with more of the deathly war paint. He stopped, one hand rising to his cheek, suddenly remembering Obi-Wan's first night on Remwara; the night his mare had nearly died foaling; the night he'd come to bed near dawn and covered in blood.

Maera watched her brother's blue eyes go soft and tired and grabbed hold of his arm.

"C'mon. Don't give me any of yer lip."

* * *

Qui-Gon submitted to a quick trip to the sonics and a change of clothes before stubbornly insisting on seeing Obi-Wan. Maera was not sure the boy was ready to face his Master, but there was no holding her brother back once he'd straightened that inflexible spine. She wrinkled her nose, making a deep grunting sound, like an old woman trying to coax a reluctant donkey. He was impossible when he was in such a state, and she had no desire to make his job worse. The strain of the invasion, rushed forward by so many days; the agony she had seen in his eyes when he carried his Padawan into Syrene's sickbay were all telling on him. Worse still was the shadowy fear behind the blue eyes, a fear she understood too well. She could only hope that Obi-Wan was, indeed, as strong as her brother thought him. He would need all that strength and more to recover from his eighteen hours of hell.

When Qui-Gon finally entered the small room, Obi-Wan had fallen asleep, curled on his side. The first thing that struck his Master was how young he looked. Somehow, the loss of his hair had at once aged his face and made it heartbreakingly childlike. Moving silently, Qui-Gon pulled the chair close and sat for a good while, simply watching the shadows that crossed the boy's face, even in slumber. Rage had given way to a kind of paralysed pity and the big man was glad to just sit there in silence. He reached out one hand and gently, ran a finger down one cheek. There was a fine shadow of beard on it, paler than the ruddy stubble of his hair but just as bright.

He stared at the shaded window with unseeing eyes. All his life, Qui-Gon had lived with fear and uncertainty. His early childhood had been spent in virtual hiding, moved from one Remwaran sector to another by his clan to hide him and Maera from the Finders. His years of clandestine training in the deepest parts of Remwara's far western provinces had only hardened a nature grown callous to fear. He lived in the moment, knowing always that the moment might be all he possessed. The rogue group, based on Remwara and other planets near by, descended from the renegade Jedi who fled the trumped up consequences of the Marigenata Wars five hundred years earlier, were Jedi. The training was intact, but they were as changed as their accepted counterparts at the Temple. Loosely affiliated by training and purpose, they were fiercely tribal. It had taken years for Qui-Gon, Mace and a handful of others to sort out the clan feuds and squabbles to make this invasion possible. It was his life's work and should have been his shining hour. Instead, he felt closer now than ever before in nearly half a century to the scared five-year-old cowering under the shielded floorboards of a half-rotting hovel, listening to his mother pay with her life for her children's safety.

What good to gain the Temple, if he were to lose his heart? He pushed the thought away. It was no time for that sort of weakness, he reasoned. Still, that dull ache inside him grew every time he looked down at the sleeping boy.

Obi-Wan's lashes fluttered and the great eyes fastened on his Master at once. A look of incredible pain etched itself into a face he sought to hide in the pillow, one hand raised to cover his shorn head.

"Don't look at me." he choked.

"Obi-Wan, listen t'me."

The beautifully rounded head shook into the bedclothes.

"Obi, I should've told ya. I know tha'. But there was so much at stake. Ya were safer if ya didna know." Qui-Gon took a deep breath.

"It's all right, lad. All's gone well. I just have to deal wi' the Senate and all's finished and done."

The silence throbbed in the small room.

"Obi, he's dead. An' Zath. The ones who did this have paid and more. It won't ever happen again. Not t'anyone, ever again."

Slowly, the Padawan sat up, his head still deeply bowed, refusing to look into his Master's eyes.

"So that's what this was about?" His voice was faint.

"Yes, lad. Tha's what it was all about. Oh, Obi-Wan, I'm so---"

The boy straightened, one hand raised in a sad parody of his former, imperious self.

"No, Master. I don't need to hear that you're sorry." He took a long deep breath and finally looked into Qui-Gon's eyes. His own were suddenly so old.

"My world was here, Master. All I ever knew. I thought I could find some balance, but you left no room for that. Now that world is gone and my place is gone with it. "

Obi-Wan looked at the sunset glowing through the paper shade for a while in silence, then turned back to Qui-Gon.

"You are my Master, so I must ask you. But I do beg you to consider this and grant my request."

"Anything, Obi-Wan. Anythin' at all." Qui-Gon struggled to keep to pleading out of his voice. There was a chill in the room that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"I wish to die." Obi-Wan's eyes had turned inward. "You have your honour. I have mine. I beg this of you, Master. Please let me die. You owe me that much."

Qui-Gon recoiled as if a snake had bitten him. "Wha'?" he stared in open-mouthed horror at Obi-Wan. A great churning began somewhere in his gut and raced upwards into his brain. When it found his mouth, he exploded.

"F'ghods sake, boy!! I didna do all this t'watch you snivel away into a corner!!"

The boy watched him with quiet eyes. "Who did you do it for Master? It wasn't me."

Qui-Gon was out of the chair and flung himself toward the door, not trusting himself to stay a moment longer.

"Fine. Then die and be damned t'ya!"

The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor and Obi-Wan sat, his hands folded quietly in his lap, watching his fingernails curiously as though he had never seen them before in his life.


	27. Chapter 27

XXVII

Maera Dubh stomped through the halls towards her brother's quarters, her small face white, angry red spots glowing on her cheeks. She and Qui-Gon had fought over nearly everything for as long as she could recall, but never had she been more furious with him than she was at this moment.

The boy was shattered. He sat in his room, staring at the wall as though his brain had been emptied. Inside, he was cold. She could feel the frozen desolation of his soul, emanating from him in chill waves. Her presence was less than any help: she was too like Qui-Gon. Racking her brains to think of someone who might be able to help Obi-Wan, she activated the surveillance in his room and gently made sure he was not disturbed, but not left entirely alone either. It would have to do for the moment.

With every step, she muttered all the things she wanted to say to her Sith-damned brother before she choked him. To have left that boy with no idea of his plans, to make him party to a coup he didn't even know was occurring was unthinkable. Worse, to half-train him and abuse him for his life at the Temple? She thought that there must be steam coming out of her ears she was so angry.

Every word deserted her as she entered his chambers.

Qui-Gon was slumped in a chair, staring blankly ahead of him, so like his Padawan that she was speechless. His face was carved of stone, all hard line and shadow, frozen in a mask of pain. Only his eyes were alive, red-rimmed and burning, the tears streaming into his beard, a silent, ceaseless rain. His normally straight shoulders were slouched in defeat. He didn't move or speak or even seem to know she was there. The aura around him radiated a misery too deep for any words, too vast to be articulated.

Maera sat down across from him and hesitantly reached out a hand to touch his. It was ice cold.

"Qui-Gon? Qui-Gon?"

"He wants t'die." his whisper cut through the still air like a razor.

"Wha'?" Her brow furrowed. What in all hells had happened in that room?

"He says he wants t'die."

// Wha' does tha' mean?!! //

He was more unshielded than she had ever known him, his entire being swallowed up in grief.

"This is all my fault. If I'd not left him alone...dammit, I knew Zath hated him, but I didna think...I should've...I should have known..." His tears continued to spill, his voice a choked rasp of agony. The comlink buzzed and he ignored it.

Quietly, she picked it up.

"Yes?"

"Maera? Jax here. We've a problem. Where's Qui-Gon?"

"Later, Jax. Please. Can ya not handle it?"

"No, Maera, I can't. There's a Republic fleet on its way from Dantooine. Let him know we've got t'get this settled before they make orbit. If they decide t'fight, we're outnumbered. Badly."

She set the small instrument down and looked over at her brother. He hadn't moved. "Did ya hear tha'?"

"I heard."

"Well, man, what are ya gonna do?"

His tall body shuddered like a tree bending in a gale. He looked at her sidelong through his hair.

"I must see Obi-Wan, Maera. I must."

"Qui-Gon, please!! The boy's in agony. Let him heal a little." she pleaded softly.

"There's na time." He rose wearily, for the first time looking every year of his age. For a moment, his hand covered his mouth, stifling the sobs she could see tearing at his throat. "I've run outta time and luck, this time."

He smiled grimly.

"Arrange it. Don't tell me ya canna do it. Just make it happen. And don't let him do anythin' stupid until I see him." He turned and walked from the room heavily.

* * *

Obi-Wan had curled up on his side, looking out the window. Someone had opened the shade to Coruscant's winking bright night and he watched the sparkle of the traffic like a trail of stars against the midnight sky.

Where was he to go? What was he to do? He wasn't sure that he really wanted to die. To never feel the sun on his face again, never laugh over a cup of tea or see the blossoms of springtime?

He did not think about the Guardhouse. It seemed a horrible nightmare and he was so completely detached from it, he would have sworn it had never occurred, but for his rough scalp. It was better not the think of it. He had only the vaguest idea what Qui-Gon had meant by "taking the Temple". That was a cipher and he ignored it.

Qui-Gon had given his permission, hadn't he? Accordingly, Obi-Wan knew he should be preparing himself. He should be brave and face death rather than dishonour, but the thought was scarcely any comfort. His Master had rejected him and surely, the Temple would no longer want him. If not death, what was left for him? Most likely, the Temple would sell him off as a pleasure slave or worse, a bedslave for some dreadful sub-level brothel. He couldn't see himself walking Coruscant's streets, a common prostitute. Besides, the Temple would require him to repay all his years of training. He would never get out of debt unless someone paid it for him. He didn't have a thing to call his own, not even his body. He could try to find a patron or lover, but that was a pipe dream: all Coruscant society must have heard of his fall by now. No one would want a despoiled and ruined Padawan. Even if someone should take pity on him or desire him still, the social pressure would be unbearable for them both. He didn't want to be brave and he didn't want to die.

Unbidden, memories of his months on Remwara kept flooding his tired brain, making him weep without sound, the tears slipping down his face into the pillow in silence. He could not help that he loved his Master. He hadn't expected love when he was purchased. He had known that he would be honoured, cherished, valued. At least, if he'd been purchased in the normal course of Temple life, he would have been assured those things. Nothing had been normal for him since his auction, nearly a year past and he had changed. He wanted more. He wanted to love his Master and he longed to be loved in return.

A little sob caught in his throat and he buried his face in the bedclothes. Maybe it would be better to die than to feel so lost and cold and unwanted...

* * *

Maera sat morosely in the ward, toying with a stray bit of bandage she had picked up off the floor. Qui-Gon had gone to the Senate to join Mace and the negotiating teams. He would not do the talking there: his presence was strictly a formal threat. She snorted. In his current state, he couldn't threaten a house cat!!

Meanwhile, the Kenobi boy lay on that narrow cot, crying his heart out, and she had no idea how to comfort him. He probably hadn't even begun to register the horror of his ordeal yet. That would take weeks with a soul healer. Unfortunately, the only Healers in the Temple complex were her own staff, trained to handle wartime injuries. She couldn't trust the Temple Healers with him under the circumstances of the invasion.

His body was still fragile from that creature's assault. They brought it to her, dead, for analysis and she was relieved to discover it to be a relatively harmless sub-sentient species from Ketasia. Used to the warm spawning currents of its native rivers, it had been cruelly trained to use human bodies as a substitute. Poor creature, it had had no idea what it was doing as it had burrowed itself into Obi-Wan's helpless body. It was only trying to stay warm and do what it had been trained to do in order to get that warmth. For the thousandth time, she thanked every deity she knew that the Guards had been systematically eliminated.

Nervously, her small fingers played over the datapad, searching the Temple records for someone who might be able to help the lad.

* * *

Obi-Wan had cried himself to sleep again, and woke deep in the night. The shade was closed again, and only the dim glow of the nightlight illuminated a figure sitting beside him on the chair. He started, huddling back into the sheets with a soft, inarticulate little moan.

"It's all right, Obi-Wan." Kal's voice was soothing.

The boy raised himself up on his elbow, brows knotted. "K-K-Kal?" he stammered. "Kal?" A kind of wild excitement made him tremble uncontrollably as he launched himself forward into the Creche-Master's arms, clinging to him in a strangling grip.

For a long time, Kal held Obi-Wan and rocked him gently in silence. It was blessedly familiar, and this time, his tears were a healing release. Kal had virtually raised him; had held him close when he scraped his knees as a child; had dried his eyes when lessons had been too hard or when punishments had made him cry in shame and hurt. Here, Obi-Wan felt safe.

When his tears were all used up, Kal raised the lights to a low level. Obi-Wan's eyes were swollen with weeping, his face now softly obscured with downy red-blond beard. Kal smiled and rubbed his cheek gently.

"Look at you!! All grown up on me!"

Obi-Wan smiled, then his face grew solemn and still. "Kal, what's happened? No one's told me anything."

"First things first. How're you feeling? You were in bacta for almost two days. We thought we'd lose you."

The boy nodded. "I feel---I don't know. Weak. My legs are shaky, but I think I'm all right."

Kal watched the inward turn of his eyes with concern, but nodded brightly. "Good. Things are different now, aren't they?"

Obi-Wan's face fell and his gaze went dark and sad.

"I don't understand," he whispered.

Kal sighed softly. "Not now, child. You need your rest. Tomorrow, we'll talk more and you should try to meditate on things, as you used to, remember? And Obi-Wan? Remember that there are always more paths ahead, if you look hard enough."

The tall Creche-Master slid into the narrow bed and Obi-Wan curled up in his arms automatically.

"Now try to get some sleep."

Exhausted by tears, the boy rested his head on that trusted, familiar shoulder, drinking in the comforting presence, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Morning in the Temple gardens was bright and sunny, the winter chill making the light dance brilliantly off the evergreen shrubs. The camellias were blooming, their perfect flowers nodding rose and red and white in the breeze.

Obi-Wan knelt on the wooden veranda that stretched out over the garden's pond, wrapped up in his traveling cloak against the brisk air. He had begged one of the assistants for plain clothing and wore a simple beige robe, sashed in pale blue. The hood was pulled far forward to hide his face.

Before him was a tray of flowering camellia, a spray of bristly pine hung with tiny cones, and several long branches of silken-grey pussy willow. There was a kettle of cold water, clippers, a small roll of wire, and a flat vase of dark slate. One slender hand rested lightly on the edge of the tray, the other limp on his knee.

This had always been Obi-Wan's favourite garden in Coruscant's winter months. The orange and golden flashes of the big carp caught the dancing light, creating silver eddies in the water's blue depths. The scent of the air was clean and sharp, fragrant with moss and evergreen.

Qui-Gon watched him from the shadows of the pavilion, so still and silent he seemed part of the landscape. The aura pooling around Obi-Wan was utterly peaceful; the unmistakable reaches of deep meditation, untouched by pain or fear or emotion.

Slowly, the young man reached down and lifted the raspberry red spray of flowers. The hood fell back but he never noticed, holding the gnarled stem in both hands, his eyes reflections of the breeze-shivered water, luminous and far away. A slight smile lit his face and he laid the branch down, stroking a silvery bud of willow gently.

He lifted the pine branch, running delicate fingers over the long needles.

For the first time, Qui-Gon began to understand that, although the boy's training was as unlike his own as water from flame, the ends were similar. Such a little thing: to reach out over the distance that divided them, and yet it had seemed so vast. Fool that he had been, not to see what was so clearly before him. Worse fool he, to have thought, in his arrogance, that there was only one path.

Obi-Wan lifted one of the willow branches, rubbing the silken buds against his cheek, his eyes encompassed in the silver of their fuzz , the pale blue of the water, the deep green of the drifting water plants, moving lazily in the currents. His movements were slow and liquid as he wound a bit of the wire around the stem and gently coaxed it into a sinuous curve before pushing it down onto the spikes of the vase.

He repeated this three times, each branch balanced to reach heaven, mid-heaven and earth. It seemed to his watching Master that he was dancing with them, a dance that created a microcosm of nature itself. There was a long pause as he lifted the end of the pine bough and held it against his face, inhaling its fragrance deeply. The deepening of his meditative state carried a soft note of sorrow, a gentle breath of winter dreams. He clipped the end and carefully placed it in the vase, cutting a spiked, twisting arc across the muted willows.

Finally, he cupped one of the short boughs laden with those perfect, berry-red blossoms and their darker buds enclosed in pale green cocoons. Gently, he pulled off a few stray leaves and placed it in the vase, gradually building a miniature of the great bush nodding in the breeze behind the little pond.

He was left holding one open flower and his face looked very sad. He closed his eyes, the blossom filling his open hands.

Qui-Gon moved in complete silence, dropping gracefully before his kneeling Padawan. Gently, he lifted the flower from Obi-Wan's hands, replacing it with a pale scroll, bound in red ribbons.

The beautiful eyes fluttered open and met his quietly, without surprise. Qui-Gon did not speak, he simply glanced down at the scroll. Laying the delicate paper on his knees, Obi-Wan untied the ribbons and slowly unrolled it.

Hand scribed, the bold lettering proclaimed that Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan to Qui-Gon Jinn, was hereby manumitted, a free man, signed by Lord Jinn and the Temple Council. He was free. Free.

The breeze ruffled Qui-Gon's hair and blew across the water, making the pine trees sigh and shiver.

A lone tear sparkled down the Padawan's cheek, splashing onto the letters and streaking through the black ink. Another threatened to follow, but Qui-Gon caught it on the petals of the flower, raised it to his lips and reached out one hand to touch the boy's cheek in a gentle caress. He smiled, tucking the blossom into his tunic, then rose and disappeared as silently as he had come, leaving Obi-Wan to gaze over the trembling waters with wide and wondering eyes.


	28. Chapter 28

XXVIII

There was nothing in the garden to indicate the turmoil of a world turned on its head. Obi-Wan still knelt, watching the shifting sunlight on the water, trying to reconcile the giddy concept of freedom with an ache so deep inside that he could not have spoken for the choking lump in his throat. His confusion was complete. He knew Qui-Gon still wanted him: every sense he possessed told him that the last thing his Master wished was to lose him forever. But freedom? Freedom to do what? A thousand scenarios flickered through his mind, but he only wanted one. He could find work, to be sure. His training in the arts, in language and etiquette and culture was priceless. Any branch of the government would be glad of his expertise, but would those branches or that government still exist? His entire world was crumbling into dust and his heart was breaking with it. Where would all this beauty be in the months ahead? This lovely, rarefied world, with its fine lines and delicate shadings trembled on the brink of a great chasm and Obi-Wan could not bear to see it disappear forever. He had not known how much he missed it until he had come back home.

What of his heart? Would that, too, be trampled underfoot in the wake of Qui-Gon's great changes? He didn't know. He had reached out with every particle of his soul, had known Qui-Gon was watching him, long before the tall form had cast a shadow across his face in the morning light. He had sensed desire, pity, and something more that he did not dare name.

Quietly, he rose, taking the vase to one of the Winter Pavilion's alcoves and placing it before a small stone carved with his favourite poem.

"The flower blooms and greets the sun, a shadow falls."

/ A shadow indeed, but falling is action. / His lips tightened and his shoulders squared. There was little sense mooning about to watch and wait. He knew what he wanted and the only way to get it was to act.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and walked out of the garden in search of Qui-Gon.

* * *

He moved silently through the crystalline hallways until he came to the great Rotunda in the centre of the Temple High Tower. He pushed the hood of his cloak down and closed his eyes, feeling for Qui-Gon's presence. He was concentrating so hard he did not sense the person behind him.

"Well, well, if it isn't our favourite "Perfect Padawan"!!!" Bruck's voice was silken.

Obi-Wan turned slowly and faced Bruck with quiet eyes.

"You look like a scarecrow!!" The other boy's laugh was low and nasty and very pleased. "Didn't you enjoy your little vacation with the Guards?"

Obi-Wan tilted his head to one side, wondering at the venom that twisted Bruck's face into an ugly mask.

"It's all over Coruscant proper." The pale blond hair flew back as he laughed shortly. "They should have let you die, but this is much more fun!!"

Bruck's eyes were icy, lit with cruel intent as he circled Obi-Wan. "Everyone's talking about it. They're going to sell you off tonight to the "Crimson Pillow" if no one gives them another offer. That pimp, Krayton, thinks you'll be just lovely for offworlders!! Well, after the Guards, that should be easy for you!!"

The tall blond boy leaned in close to whisper in Obi-Wan's ear. "Of course, it might not be as much --- fun? And you'll have to spend some time at the Healers." Bruck, like all his other age-mates knew how Obi-Wan dreaded the Healers. The low voice gloated.

"Krayton wants you looking pretty. I hear that procedure for growing your hair back hurts like hell. Especially since he's ready to put you to work next week. Don't you want to know what else he'll have done to you? I wonder...?"

Silently, Obi-Wan slipped one hand into the sleeve of his robe and touched the scroll hidden there.

Bruck circled back around to face him, his lips curved in a nasty smile.

"Here. I thought you might like these. Just a little farewell gift from me to you."

He shoved a pair of elaborate, long hairpins at Obi-Wan, the kind worn by the lowest class of prostitute, gaudy with coloured ribbons and tinsel.

Obi-Wan was left, holding the sharp steel pins in one hand, as Bruck strode away down the corridor that echoed with his laughter.

* * *

Qui-Gon listened with half an ear to the bickering High Senate Tribunal until he could take no more. The endless minutiae and tangents were making him mildly insane. Finally, he rose, looming in the chamber like a dangerous predator over a squabbling flock of chickens.

"Enough o' this!!" he shouted. "I've done wi' your blather. Either ya work with my negotiators or I'll turn this Sith-damned planet into a ball of frozen dirt. My demands are clear. I want a workable solution to the slavery question. There's trade advantages aplenty for a treaty so I suggest ya pay attention. An' I'll not compromise on th' Temple. It's mine. I own the damned thing and I'll tear it to the ground if I like."

Mace bit back a desire to laugh aloud. Jinn was good, a gambler through and through. He knew exactly when to terrify with bombast and when to trust to diplomacy. His outburst would speed things along. Certainly, the negotiations would be delicate. There would be no way to simply outlaw slavery in the Republic territories: the economy would collapse. A long-term solution leading to complete emancipation would require a very sweet pot. Some of the Out Rim planets in the Rogue Force were trade prizes, laden with valuable minerals, ores and goods. Tax-eased contracts with them would sugar the deal nicely. As for the Temple, Mace had his reservations. There was much to commend the Coruscant Temple. It would require cooler heads than Qui-Gon Jinn's to make a smooth transition from training playthings to training warriors.

* * *

Obi-Wan was still standing in the Rotunda, staring down at the garish pins with sad eyes, lost in his own thoughts. He heard footsteps and slid into the shadow of a pillar.

The footsteps stopped.

"Obi-Wan?" Senator Palpatine's voice was soft. "Whatever are you doing here, boy?"

Obi-Wan looked up at the Senator, smiling at his former sponsor with undisguised delight. He was gently enfolded in an embrace and sighed against the Senator's rich robe, suddenly feeling oddly safe and a little sleepy. "You shouldn't be out of the wards."

The boy's great changeable eyes were soft.

"It's not proper for you, of all people, to be wandering about. Are you quite well now, lad?"

He nodded, searching the familiar blue eyes for something of their old affection. It glowed back at him but with it, he saw a kind of icy calculation, a detached scrutiny that frightened him. He bit his lip nervously.

"I know, child, it's very sad."

He nodded again, studying the stern features under his lashes. His face was raised by a cold hand.

"Hmmm. Of course, your hair must be grown out. You look hideous." His head was turned first in one direction, then the next. "Yes. Hideous."

Try as he might, Obi-Wan could not hide the tears in his eyes. The Senator patted his shoulder absently.

"Yes, yes, I know how hard this is for you." He shook his perfectly coiffed grey head sadly. "That barbarian left you to be ruined by his own servant!! Shocking! Just shocking!! And to make the Temple pay him for his own negligence." Palpatine cupped the young face between his hands. "Such a terrible shame."

The cold fingers stroked his cheeks gently and Obi-Wan felt a surge of hope and relief. If his former sponsor still cared about him, perhaps things were not so bad, after all. The gentle touch emboldened him and he reached up to touch the caressing fingers with a grateful smile.

"Yes, truly a great pity. I would never forgive myself if I allowed you to be sold off so cruelly."

Obi-Wan bit his lip again.

"You hurry back to the wards, my dear, and tell Kal to bring you to the Healers. I'll buy you as a pleasure slave. That way you won't ever have to worry about those vulgar peddlers from the sub-levels."

Obi-Wan froze, his eyes clearing in shocked confusion. His mouth opened a little, then shut as the Senator turned his face to one side again.

"You've such lovely bone structure. I look forward to seeing the rest of it properly attended to." The blue eyes raked down his trembling body with custodial avarice. Obi-Wan shivered as though he had been doused with ice water.

"You will be a lovely entertainment at my banquets and you know most of my friends will have such appreciation for your beauty. At least some of your training can be of use. Lift up that robe. I want to see your feet."

Obi-Wan clamped down on his lip fiercely, and obeyed, raising his robe to show his slender feet in their low sandals.

"They'll be lovely moulded to a dancer's shoe. Make sure Kal sees to it. Five inches, no more. And tell Kal I want your hair floor-length. I'll contact him later to arrange for a new wardrobe after we sell yours." The chill voice stopped and his head was lifted once again.

"Tut!!! Don't start those waterworks, my boy! Be brave!! It's more than you could expect, under the circumstances. Surely a place in my home is better than what that sub-level scum has planned for you, unless you like forced androgyny and clients by the number! You know I'll be good to you and you'll find your duties less than arduous, I'm sure! I'll see that you have proper quarters and a servant to attend to you. Hmmmm...you'll need one, and a driver once your feet have been arched..."

Obi-Wan barely heard the rest of the sentences for the roaring in his ears. A pleasure slave!! It was a mercy compared to Krayton's sub-level brothel, but he cringed at the idea of servicing dignitaries who had once vied for his attention. The humiliation was searing. He would still be nothing more than a toy, given by his Master as a gesture of goodwill to any guest. He struggled to contain his hurt, pride stiffening his spine. He would not, could not let the Senator see him cry.

Palpatine stroked the white cheek possessively. "Yes, you will be just lovely. Make sure to tell Kal to get you to the Healers immediately. I will send my servant to fetch you tomorrow evening. That should be enough time. Now you go back and have them get you ready. You see, I won't abandon you."

Somehow, Obi-Wan managed to choke out "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," before he started down the hallway back to the ward. How he was managing to make one foot move in front of the other, he didn't know. He was ice-cold with shock and pain. His mind kept repeating over and over, 'pleasure slave'. He walked slowly, unseeing.

He thought of Jiki. Jiki had been his best friend, three years older, who'd teased him, and laughed with him and taught him all the best places to buy forbidden sweets. Jiki had never been auctioned. No one had told Obi-Wan why: he was far too young for such stories, but there was a rumoured lover. Whatever the case, Jiki had been sold off as a pleasure slave. A month later, Obi-Wan had been in one of the public gardens for a viewing party and had seen Jiki in a high, droid-drawn carriage. His head seemed weighted back by the bronze-gold hair cascading loose to his heels. Obi-Wan had run over to talk to him and was shocked at his pallor. He was even more shocked by the tiny, arching feet in their embroidered slippers that peeked from beneath Jiki's brilliantly coloured robe. A dancer's foot, the hallmark of the pleasure slave: a pretty phrase for a brutal custom that shortened the Achilles tendon, removed more than half the bones and length of the foot and broke the arch into a perfect, permanent crescent. The slippers had blocks set in the toe, for a pleasure slave could only walk en pointe and the cut tendons made only the shortest distances possible. Pleasure slaves never ran away; their feet were too crippled to allow much more movement than a short dance or a swaying stroll across a room. Jiki had been a brilliant kata dancer. Now, so soon after the surgery, he couldn't even walk. His heavily made-up eyes were sad and he pulled at a long spice-pipe as he spoke to Obi-Wan. He said that it had hurt terribly, the hair and his feet, but he was getting better. Then the chaperon had grabbed Obi-Wan by the arm and angrily pulled him away. He was given a beating overseen by his own sponsor and many hours of extra lessons as punishment for talking to a commoner in public. He never saw Jiki again.

Obi-Wan stared out of the transparent hallway down towards the ground level labyrinth of the city far below the Temple. His head felt thick and fuzzy. He couldn't remember what he had been looking for in the Rotunda.

* * *

Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan somewhere in the centre of the complex, and strode down the halls quickly. Something was nagging at him, pushing him to find the boy; a vague hunch in the back of his mind said so clearly, "Find him. Find him quickly." He doubted there could be any further trouble in the Temple, but dared not ignore such a feeling now. No, never again would he willingly dismiss any fears he felt on Obi-Wan's account.

He passed a few Temple Masters and nodded brief greetings as they shuffled past him, nervous fingers clutching at their robes, frightened eyes following his long strides. His eyes strained down the hall, in search of the boy, while his mind cast a wide net about the Complex. There was so much about the Temple he did not know. He knew from Kal that the Masters were almost all retired-Padawans who had either purchased or won their freedom. Every one of them had the means to live at the pinnacle of Coruscant's high society, yet so many had elected to return to the Temple and give freely of their time and means to pass on a legacy he had only begun to appreciate. He made a mental note to speak to Kal about it later: the Creche-Master had been an invaluable contact and a friend. Without his help, Qui-Gon might never have found Obi-Wan.

His mind sped along with his long legs through the high-domed crystal corridors. / Aye. An' perhaps it would have been better for the lad if I'd never taken him. / Qui-Gon grimaced. He hoped beyond hope that Obi-Wan had seen his freedom as a gift. It was such a risk. Gambler or no, the lad was one prize Qui-Gon was not prepared to lose.

Qui-Gon stopped for a moment and rubbed his circled eyes. He was so tired he swayed on his feet, held upright by a lifetime of hard training and a backbone made of steel. Exhaustion made the bright winter sunlight glinting off the hallways and windows dance, a sparkling counterpoint to the neat lines of level traffic. He rubbed his face again and continued in search of Obi-Wan.

He found himself in the great Rotunda, gazing around the high pillars in awe despite himself. The weight of so many years lifted this place beyond the moment and even Qui-Gon Jinn was stunned by its austere beauty. This part of the Temple was ancient and whispered of long ages of Jedi, of change and time and the ebb and flow of history. He shook his hair out of his face. When exhaustion made him prey to such fancies, it was time for a long nap!

"Our conquering hero, indeed."

Qui-Gon whirled around and barely suppressed a sigh of relief. It was only Senior Senator Palpatine. Just as he registered the name, another wave of nagging worry for Obi-Wan flooded through him and he stopped, eyes narrowed.

"Senator."

"I must say, Lord Jinn. You quite took us all by surprise."

Qui-Gon smiled crookedly. "I'm sure I must have. Senator, I'm lookin' for---"

"Obi-Wan. Of course. You do know that he will be sold tonight."

Qui-Gon stopped, and eyed the patrician face closely. The Senator's expression was one of bland concern, a true politician's countenance.

"Is tha' what they're sayin'?"

"A pity. But why ever would you be looking for him? I must say, you made quite a fortune of that mess. Making lemonade from lemons, eh?"

The oily voice slid over Qui-Gon's consciousness, slippery and sticky.

"An' who thinks they're sellin' anyone around here?" Jinn shifted his weight to one hip, his head thrown back, eyes steady in quiet challenge.

The Senator was unfailingly, irritatingly polite.

"The Temple Council, of course."

"Of course. Well, they'll na do anythin' without my permission, ya know. I own the whole damned complex. Them too, I suppose." He laughed shortly. "Then again, they already know tha'."

"Really? I had no idea. I must adjust my schedule and meet with you in future then."

Qui-Gon looked down his hawk nose at the falsely smiling face. "Let's dispense wi' pleasantries, Senator. No one's bein' sold around here without my express permission. And certainly na' Obi-Wan, considerin' he's a free man."

To his credit, Palpatine merely raised an eyebrow. "I see. How fortunate for him."

Jinn drew himself up to his full height and took a few steps forward. Every nerve ending was screaming danger at him; something dark whirled around them, making him off-balance and afraid.

// You're very sure of yourself, aren't you, Jinn. //

Qui-Gon felt the blood freeze up in his veins, his face going chalk-white. Like lightening, he struggled to raise his shields but was rooted in place, watching Palpatine emerge from the shadows in a cold grip of terror.

The richly embellished blue robes seemed to swim on a figure that was shriveling before his horrified eyes. The dignified face wizened and shrank, outstretched hands becoming clawed talons. Qui-Gon was gasping, drawing in deep breaths, fighting to regain his centre as he came closer and closer to an evil so palpable he could taste it.

Fool!! You fool!! His mind was screaming as he forced one arm to reach for his sabre. It was pulled out of his hand to land, clattering on the marble floor.

// Yes, you are a fool. And you've come to a fool's end. Did you really think I would allow you to wreck my world, you pathetic thug? I've ruled here for longer than you can imagine and I'll continue to rule long after I've turned you into dust. //

The voice in his mind dripped venom and pounded relentlessly against him. He was struggling to breathe and wrenched himself free of that dark grasp with every bit of his strength. The effort sent him flying backwards into one of the pillars and he sagged against it, gasping, blood beginning to run from his nose. He exhaled, seeking to find calm, to regain some control.

// I will have it all, Jinn. As I have for a thousand years. It's all mine. This world, your precious Jedi, the Temple, the boy. Mine. All of it."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and threw himself to one side in time to avoid a searing flash of light that burst from those gnarled and shrunken claws. He fell heavily on one knee, gasping at the crackling pain.

// Yes, more power than you can imagine. What is it you wanted? The Jedi? Oh, they will continue just as they are. Silly toys to be played with. Our keepers of culture.// The hateful voice erupted into a truly terrifying cackle of laughter.

// The boy? He's mine, Jinn. He always was mine. By tomorrow night, he'll be serving at my banquet table. You thought to take him from me? Idiot! //

Another lightening flash tore into Qui-Gon. His head snapped back, vision blurring as blood vessels in his eyes burst and flooded his sight in a sea of scarlet. His heart stopped, then started, his mind beginning to blank. He would not survive and he could not fight. Despair was overwhelming him. // Obi-Wan. // he thought, distractedly. // Obi-Wan. //

He struggled to rise up on his knees, determined to meet death as close to standing as possible. The dreadful eyes of that mummified creature were the only things alive in it, the often-cloned body shriveled to a husk containing a millennium of evil. Through the red mist of his blood-filled eyes, Qui-Gon could only watch and wait for the final blow.

He could sense the darkness drawing nearer, being pulled into that hideous wizened thing and drew in a deep breath. Then, suddenly, it was gone. The darkness screeched and shrieked in his mind and fizzled out like a dying ember.

As he sank to the floor, Qui-Gon watched the shrunken form freeze, bright ribbons and tinsel nodding from either temple as it pitched forward.

* * *

Obi-Wan was curled in a dim alcove of the reading room, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. He had pulled his feet up onto the bench and hugged his knees. His mind felt fuzzy, the way it used to when he woke after a long banquet of drinking. There had been something he had been looking for in the Temple corridors, but he couldn't remember. He rested his chin on his knees and stared at his feet, wondering how much it would hurt to have them so terribly altered.

He thought about the katas. The katas...a nagging at the back of his mind kept at him, needling him. Katas...ancient warriors...

His head snapped up, eyes wide as he felt a wave of agony and despair. Qui-Gon!!

He raced towards the Rotunda at blurring speed.

He only saw a small form swallowed in a mass of blue velvet, forks of crackling light arcing across the room to where his Master struggled to his knees, blood running into his beard and mouth.

Obi-Wan did not pause and he did not think. In one effortless move, he somersaulted forwarded, plunging each of the wickedly sharp hairpins into either side of the creature's skull, then vaulted over it to Qui-Gon's side.

Qui-Gon looked up through a growing ruby darkness to see Obi-Wan's face above his.

"Master? Master, please."

Qui-Gon reached up one hand, stretching his shaking fingers to touch the boy's cheek before he lost consciousness. His last memory was the dewy wetness of Obi-Wan's tears on his fingertips and the sound of that soft voice calling his name.


	29. Chapter 29

XXIX

Obi-Wan walked quietly across the Rotunda floor. He stirred the lump beneath the blue velvet on the floor with one bare toe. They had taken Qui-Gon away and he felt as though he had been spilled over a cliff. Aware of nothing but Qui-Gon's fading presence in his mind and his heart, he was so intent on grasping its shadowy trail he had not heard the thunder of footsteps. He had not heard Maera's clipped orders, Mace's bellowed directives, the low hum of the gurney and the life-support droids around them. He roused from his trance only when they tore the tall body from his arms, bearing Qui-Gon away to the Infirmary. No one paid much attention to him in all the confusion. Within moments, he was left on the floor, staring blankly at its intricate tiles, all but invisible to the frantic rogue forces gathering around their fallen leader.

He looked down at the pile of fabric again. They had covered the small, desiccated form with its own sea of material to be collected later by those on morgue duty. Obi-Wan cocked his head to one side, staring down at it with icy eyes. He restrained a childish impulse to kick it and walked away to look out of the huge windows. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew who lay beneath that familiar robe, but it didn't matter. He was still straining after Qui-Gon, an almost physical effort making the tendons in his neck pulse.

Something nudged against his bare foot and he gave it a little boot. It clacked gently against the window and he glanced down.

Qui-Gon's lightsabre.

A low sob caught in his throat as he bent to retrieve it, his fingers trembling along its polished length. His chest constricted but the tears would not come. He was all out of tears.

There were voices in the hallway and he slid behind a pillar, clutching his prize, quivering and wary as a cornered animal.

* * *

Sounds were rushing over the bow of the boat and Maera was clutching his hand so hard it hurt and his stomach felt tender and he shook his head when one of the tall warriors offered him a piece of bread. It was dark and cold and the wind was sharp against his face and Maera kept squeezing his hand and it hurt where her nails dug in and he bit his lip because his stomach was queasy. The air was salty and smelled rotten and the boat was rocking and his stomach felt worse and he was leaning over the side and he was sick and Maera wouldn't let go of his hand and the wind whipped the sick back into the boat and made them wet and one of the warriors laughed and wiped his face clean and then it was funny-dark with spots all over and Maera's nails hurt digging into his hand and then he couldn't feel them anymore and the dark spots got bigger...

* * *

Obi-Wan slid down in the shadow of his pillar and listened to Mace Windu talking softly to someone. His voice was calm, droning on about the fleet and targets and positions. The Republican Fleet was coming from Dantooine and Mace was talking to Jax on his comlink in a worried tone. Obi-Wan clutched the lightsabre to his chest, his eyes bright in the shadows, listening.

He heard the low voice drop and reached out with all his senses to pick up the words; the coordinates of the incoming reinforcements, the name of the leader, the position of the Republican Fleet.

He knew what he needed to do.

Silent as a ghost, he hugged the shadows of the corridor and made his way to one of the side entrances. He pulled the hood of his cloak up and walked quickly through the plaza. It was early afternoon and there were few people milling around the huge pots of flowering plants and shrubs. The usual crowds of Temple initiates, servants and Masters were all secured within the complex, leaving only a few curious citizens to stare at the lofty towers and glittering glass corridors in awe. Obi-Wan attracted no attention at all in his dark cloak and simple robe. He was merely another onlooker or perhaps a Temple guest moving through the public thoroughfares.

He went swiftly and quietly to one of the transport docking pads. The pilots of the short-transports seemed so big to him. He bit his lip in dismay, squeezing his eyes shut. This was not a good idea. How was he ever to get where he needed to go?

Through the sun-reddened dim behind his eyelids, he could feel Qui-Gon, his presence a wavering beacon. He remembered a smile, a wave of the big, broad-fingered hand; the way that people always seemed to do what his Master wanted them to do. The smile in his mind grew a little wider.

// Trust yourself. //

He took a deep breath and walked up to one of the pilots.

"And what can I do for you? Need to get somewhere? "

The man's voice was bored. Obi-Wan looked up from under the hood. His right hand gestured so slightly, the other hidden beneath his sleeve, gripping hard on his Master's sabre.

"You will take me to Quadrant 4-Q, dock 783J."

"I will take you to...."

Obi-Wan settled himself in the small aircar, breathing out a silent sigh of relief. He had done it. He watched the glittering lines of traffic rise up to greet him and forced himself to calm, finding his centre and letting it slip around him like the widening rings of a pebble tossed into a pool.

The little aircar stopped and hovered to Syrene's docking-tube.

"You will go back to port. You did not see me."

Obi-Wan turned to sneak a glance over his shoulder as the aircar sped away into the thin atmosphere. He grinned to himself and laid his hand against Syrene's golden door.

/ Please open for me. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. / he thought frantically, holding his breath. He let it out in an explosive exhale when the doors slid open and he was safe in her gilded belly.

It felt strange to walk her narrow corridors by himself, listening to the soft hum of the docking mechanisms as he climbed towards the bridge. He nearly tripped over one of his high-soled sandals, lying forgotten in the hall near the Common's doorway. It had probably been there for months, kicked aside after Xaennon. Obi-Wan took a long, shuddering breath. He should be frightened at what he was planning, but he only felt a dim excitement that made his fingers cold and his cheeks hot. He slid into the high command chair and laid his hand onto the rippling golden console.

* * *

Above them in the chapel, there was the humming sound of chanting in the old tongue that sounded like the hum of starting engines in Syrene's golden hull and the warriors had told them to keep quiet but he wanted to laugh and caught his sister's eye in the flickering torchlight. She grinned at him back at him.

// M'era? Silly, aren't they? //

She put her finger to her lips and he shook his dark hair out of his face.

// Why? They canna hear us. //

// 'Gon, hush up! Don't make me laugh! //

Her face twisted and she pressed his hand against her mouth trying not to giggle and the chants rose and fell above them in the cellar where they were hidden and there were spiders weaving pretty webs in the corner that he showed her and they were glad because it was warm and they were safe for the moment...

* * *

Maera watched the controls of machine wavering, the needles jumping and twitching in their circled orbs. Qui-Gon was so still, only his eyelids' minuscule movements betraying any life at all. She could feel his dreaming deep in her own mind as she used to when they were children. He wandered from past to present, locked behind adamantine shields that only she could penetrate. His heartbeat was too slow, his brainwaves jumping erratically. The broken knee was only a footnote in the catalogue of injuries that had torn his body. Whatever that thing had done to him, it had ripped through him physically and psychically. He was drifting away in dreams and didn't hear her calling and calling to him. He didn't hear anything at all.

* * *

// Obi-Wan!! // Syrene's metallic voice was faintly surprised. She almost sounded sleepy, as though he had roused her from a doze. // Ready for take-off, bright one. //

How many weeks had it been since he had sat in this place, reluctant to leave her to change his clothes and walk back into his old world? It seemed like a lifetime or two. His palm tingled at the familiar feeling of her metal heartbeat pooling around his hand. He opened his mind, heard the engines begin to purr and the great, fragile wings opened to speed them away into space. He gave Syrene the coordinates and her momentary silence spoke loudly in his mind. When she did speak, her voice was low with concern.

// Are you sure you know what you're doing, laddie? //

"Yes, I do. I have to, Syrene. Please don't fight me. It's for him. He's hurt. "

// I know. I felt it, can't you? //

He could. There were rings of darkness around the Qui-Gon-of-his-heart, the glowing green presence playing hide and seek in his consciousness.

// Master? I love you. // He sent the thought out wistfully, then turned his attention back to piloting the little ship through the currents of Coruscant's outer orbit.

* * *

// I love ya. // He remembered Auntie's smell, warm of hay and long hair washed in rosemary and the feel of her arms around them both and he felt safe, even though he knew she wasn't Mam, that Mam had gone away forever, but she was warm and Cousin Jerax would be there soon to take them further away. The Finders would never get them and Mam would know, wherever she had gone and he and M'era would be safe and the wind would stop making that funny rushing sound that reminded him of Syrene's drives pushing against heavy currents and the static of the comlink echoed like the crackle of dry hair next to the fire....

* * *

Obi-Wan activated the comlink and let his fingers punch in a code while he thought of his Master and the reinforcements. He waited until there was a splutter, a squawk and finally, a voice.

"Aye. Ranac here. Who is this?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He thought of his Master. He thought of his Master's voice, of the shape of the vowels as they bubbled up through his Master's throat; the lilt of the consonants and the music in the sound of his Master's words.

"Qui-Gon here. How close are ya?"

"Close. Na more than a standard hour. "

"Meet me at 199.77 X35. Be ready. Full battle array. Republican Fleet. I'll bring 'em in for ya."

"Aye, sir. Ya need help, sir?"

"Nah. Just be ready. Over."

Obi-Wan was shaking. He pressed one hand over his mouth, hardly able to believe that the sounds had come from his own throat. He hoped that the reinforcements did not have voice recognition.

// It's all right. You even had the wavelength down pat. Sneaky little bastard it is that you are! //

Could a ship giggle? If so, he was sure Syrene was laughing at him. He permitted himself a smile and felt as though it would crack his face.

Obi-Wan sensed the Republican Fleet ahead of him long before it showed up on the viewscreen. His hand remained steady on the console even as his lips quivered and his whole body was drawn taut in anticipation. As the little ship approached, he dropped her down below the Fleet and slammed the shields up to battle density.

// You ready, Syrene? //

For a breathless moment, he paused, staring blindly at the viewscreens. The Fleet seemed enormous, stretching out before him like a sea. He hunched down over the console and darted up to emerge between two of the big ships, firing the torpedoes in all directions.

* * *

The mare was nearly worn out, her flanks spattered with foam, heaving with the strain. He urged her forward into a full gallop, twisting in the saddle to signal his men and raised the bow, taking careful aim at the gaudy uniformed leader. Always take out the leader first. It leaves the rest to flounder. Obi-Wan,can ye hear me? M'era? The mare stumbled and he pitched forward into darkness....

* * *

Obi-Wan dove back down to a safe distance, firing up into the huge hull of the leading ship. The air above was electric, splashed with fire that sent shards of orange light in all directions. Four of the big spacecraft drifted now, helplessly crippled as the rest struggled to maneuver in their tight formation. Syrene was a hummingbird pecking at a flock of lumbering jackdaws, all seventeen turrets blasting a continuous barrage of deadly damage as Obi-Wan steered her in and around the big ships. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, shouting obscenities in every language he knew, all the terror and rage of the Guardhouse bubbling up through him as he savaged the Fleet.

The lead ship exploded into a ball of fire, taking five more out with it and the boy's face was a mask of triumph, teeth bared, his whole body shaking convulsively as he dropped back down, narrowly avoiding a flaming tongue of blaster fire.

"DAMN YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES!! C'MON!! C'MON YOU JUST TRY AND GET ME YOU ROTTEN SON OF A BITCH. EAT THIS YOU PRICK!!!"

Syrene swerved sharply and he nearly fell out of the chair.

// Laddie, stay with me. Obi-Wan, bright one. Stay with me. //

A fierce calm overtook him and he nodded grimly. "I'm here...I'm right here. Up and to the left."

He guided the little craft to a small pocket between another four destroyers, daring them to fire on him. The tsunami of vicious curses continued, now a savage whisper between his teeth. His eyes were glittery as he opened fire again in a 360 degree arc, then darted away to attack the rear of the Fleet, leading them inexorably towards the reinforcements.

* * *

Maera was gripping her brother's limp hand, her small face pinched into a worried frown. He was still as death, his weather-tanned face almost grey-white. Even the tiny flickers of his eyelids had ceased, his breathing so shallow no one except she could have seen it at all. His shields were falling away now, like the layers of an onion peeling back to leave him vulnerable as he had not been since early childhood. Past and present had merged in his drifting mind, memories rising to connect with the now in no discernible pattern that she could sense. No one could find the boy. Maera had sent for him but he was no where to be found and she very much feared that her brother would breathe his last without Obi-Wan at his side.

* * *

"...just a little more. A little further..." Obi-Wan hissed at the viewscreen. He could sense Ranac's reinforcements. They would be within range in moments. The Fleet lumbered after him, struggling to get off a shot without hitting their own. He danced in and among them, daring them to fire, pausing for tantalising moments to aim another volley, then flit away like a taunting gnat. His voice whistled between his teeth, a soft litany of curses and jibes pouring out of him, taking with it the accumulated bile of rage and pain and suffering.

There. There they were, just a speck on the screen, growing larger with every move. He flew like a deranged insect among the huge ships, distracting them, keeping them focused on his stinging assault as the trap began to spring around them.

* * *

There were dirty patches of snow piled up outside the hut but it was warm by the fire and his face felt hot. M'era found a friend and played by herself in the corner while he stared at the fire and wondered how long it would be before Cousin Jerax came back and took them away from the big men who sat at the table, smelling of whiskey and grease from their dinner. The door opened letting in a gust of cold air and another big one stumbled into the room, making grunting noises. Maera held out her friend and he grabbed it and threw it against the wall and she was crying, holding the dead rat that had been her friend and he felt the anger rising in him like a storm tide. His eyes felt hot and wide and the firelight flickered and Maera cried for the dead rat that was her friend and the big man was yelling and he stared up without seeing. Then the man was against the wall and there was a streaky stain where his head slid down the wall and his eyes were open but they did not see and Maera still cried, holding the dead rat and he grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door away from the big men who stared at the other one who was looking at nothing...

* * *

A sudden jolt threw Obi-Wan forward against the console with rib-crushing force. He gasped at the pain, Syrene's metallic shriek echoing deep in his mind. Her voice was a gibbering murmur as he struggled to maneuver. The port sail was badly damaged and she began to list dangerously. He strained to keep focused on the console, reaching underneath to free the manual controls. Another blast buffeted the little ship and he was cursing fluently.

"C'mon. C'mon, Syrene. We can do this. We can DO it." He reached for the crystal spire controls. "Just one more blast. One more."

He began to sink his mind into the Force, pulling it through him to surround Syrene in a wide, hazy circle.

"If we're going down, I'll take you lot with me, you bastards."

Then conscious thought stopped and the bright ring of Force-energy expanded, growing denser and more brilliant. There was a sharp burst of blue-white light and Obi-Wan sagged forward over the console. There was a dull roar in his ears, a shaking in his limbs, then nothing but the silence of space.


	30. Chapter 30

XXX

Maera pried gently at her brother's fingers. They were locked around her hand in a death grip that threatened to break the small bones and it finally took a Force-push to free them. Flexing her aching knuckles, she brushed the sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. He was still unconscious, but no longer drifting dangerously between now and the hereafter. For a horrifying moment, she had felt him drag hold of her mind and tear her into his delirium, expending a huge wave of Force energy, then lapsing into still oblivion. It was the dead of Coruscant's hazy midnight and she couldn't bring herself to leave his side.

Mace, supervising the search teams that tore through erstwhile Senator Palpatine's tower home and keeping order in the captive Senate had felt it as well: a fireball of Force that nearly buckled his knees and pulled at his own energy sources like a huge magnet. Through the darkness of his closed eyes, he had a brief vision of blazing blue eyes searing light outward like a star going nova. Then absolute blackness. He swallowed his worry that what he had felt was Qui-Gon's death, reasoning that Maera would have contacted him. When he did not hear from her at all, he grew concerned enough to put Tryyl in charge of the search parties, leaving the Warrior Guard to mind the Senate and rushed to the Infirmary.

Qui-Gon was not dead, nor was he in imminent danger. He was now locked behind his steel-trap shields in dreamless slumber. He was waiting. They looked at each other in silence and waited with him.

Ranac shielded his eyes from a blue-white blast of rippling energy that tore up and outward into the Republican Fleet. Blinking madly, he strained to see the viewscreen through dazzled eyes. The Fleet froze and seemed to float in a pulsing shimmer of light that quivered and rolled, a tidal wave of pure energy. Like an aurora borealis, it streamed with colour, shading from green to blue, then paled to silver-white and abruptly disappeared. The Fleet disappeared with it, leaving only the crippled Syrene drifting awkwardly in sudden darkness. Ranac groaned and pulled himself up to his knees, dizzy with the Force that had torn through him, dragging him with it, then releasing like a bow letting an arrow fly. "Wha' the bloody hell..." he muttered, turning to his officers.

All were affected, some fallen to the deck, others staring blankly at the now-still viewscreen.

"Wha' was that?" The engineer picked himself up off the floor to struggle into his seat.

"I dunno, but that's Jinn's flagship. Get a boardin' party down there and send the repair ships over."

Two of the big cerusin repair ships closed in on the drifting, golden Syrene, came up from under her, cradling her upright between them. Ranac watched the viewscreen intently as the sentient metal began its welling repairs to her damaged sail. No matter how often he saw this, he never tired of its magic; never wearied of watching the delicate gilded ribs melt into shape, the pale sail's ragged edges flow into wholeness. He smiled and turned to his comlink, delivering a stream of orders in Remwaran.

Obi-Wan heard a babble of incomprehensible gibberish and raised his head groggily. He winced as he moved away from the console, his ribs stabbing painfully. He pushed the chair back and found his left hand locked into the pulsating depression of Syrene's spire.

"Hey, lemme go." he murmured. There was more gibberish and he realised that there was more than one voice.

"Syrene?" // Syrene? Can you hear me? //

He could hear her voice dimly but couldn't understand the words. He sent a pulse of a question to her and nearly fell out of the chair.

// She's damaged. Repairin' her...patient. // The mental voice was definitely another ship, and it was deep, male, its Standard lilting and thick.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, sucking in a breath at the pain in his left side. He dragged his head up to look at the viewscreen. The Fleet was gone and there was nothing in front of him but space. The sidescreens each showed other ships, too close to be more than magnified portholes and gleaming metal. He could feel the pull of the golden vessel through his mind and his hand and let her tap into him, too exhausted to stop the flow.

The last thing he remembered was his suicidal initiation of the spire at wide-range. Then something had happened. He had felt a crackle of energy in his mind, then he seemed to fly upward although he knew he was still crumpled over the console. He had felt Qui-Gon. It was almost a physical feeling, but more, as though his Master was not only holding him but engulfing him, inside and out. In his mind's eye, he had been lost in the laser-blue eyes that burned into his, his own blazing back until they seemed to ride a crest of eternity, locked together, his hands tangled in Qui-Gon's hair, their souls pouring into one another. Bursts of light exploded around them, wider and paler until they were swallowed in a pillar of shifting brilliance, consumed and consuming. Then it was gone.

Syrene's sucking pull on him slowly ceased, the pooling metal around his hand eased to stillness and he tried to stand up, groaning.

// Obi-Wan? Bright one? You did it. Warrior-child, bright flame... // There was infinite satisfaction in Syrene's soft voice as she drifted away, back to healing communion with the other ships.

He slid down to the deck and leaned against the console, gasping for breath when the bridge door opened.

There were boots, like Qui-Gon's boots, but smaller. There were strong legs in rough homespun, a dark tunic and dark eyes amid darker hair. The beard moved and there were lips.

"Who th' hell are you?"

Obi-Wan felt himself yanked up by one arm and gritted his teeth. He Force-shoved the hand away.

"Don't touch me!!" he hissed, then straightened, his chin up. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan to Qui-Gon Jinn."

The head of the boarding party eyed him dubiously, wary enough of that push not to get too close.

"Where's Qui-Gon?"

"In the Infirmary at the Jedi Temple. Please take me there." A lifetime of steel etiquette kept his back straight against the pain that laced through him with every breath.

"Dinna give me any shite, boy!! Where's Qui-Gon? Wha've ya done wi' him?"

Obi-Wan watched him with quiet eyes. "I told you. The Jedi Temple."

"Wha's goin' on here? Qui-Gon contacted us."

He raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan, searching for a way into his mind and coming up against shields of enormous power.

"I need to see Maera Dubh. And I must get to Qui-Gon. Now." It was not a request.

"Oh, ya do?"

The dark man pulled himself up from the far wall in shock. His sarcasm had been met with another Force-shove that left him sprawling.

The young man's green eyes glittered under their lowering amber brows.

"Just do as I say. I'll explain to Ranac on the way."

Mace listened to the increasing roar of the huge Senate dome in dismay. With Qui-Gon unavailable, the situation was becoming explosive and he worried about keeping order. His comlink beeped insistently and he snapped it on.

"What?!" he growled.

"Mace, Ranac's forces are here. We're secure." Jax's voice fairly breathed relief.

"And the negotiating teams?"

"On their way t'ya now. At least they can snow th' politicians f'awhile". Mace could hear Jax' smile and the tension in his shoulders relaxed. Hard as he and Qui-Gon had worked to smooth the tribal warfare among the Rogue Fo rces, they had laboured harder the past twenty years raising a crack group of their most gifted to handle negotiations. It was time to bring in the ringers. Mace punched in Kal's code.

"Kal. It's time. How long before you can get them all together?"

"Not long. A few hours." Kal paused, pursing his lips. "It's been a long haul, hasn't it?"

Mace nodded at his comlink. "It has. The negotiators are on their way. Meet them in the Senate ante-rooms."

Kal smiled out over the darkened city. His double life was finally at an end. For two decades, he had been grooming Padawans, the keeper of the Jedi Creche. All during that time, he and the brightest and best former Padawans had used their talents and their hard-won freedom to create a powerful collective of trained Force-sensitives on Coruscant itself, patiently honing their abilities in social and political mechanics for this moment, when the Temple would be freed and their services necessary to reorganise both Senate and Jedi. The culmination of more than two hundred years of secret organisation, fraught with peril and intrigue, buried so deeply beneath the facile exterior of the Temple's training ground, these were the sharpened edge of the Rogue Jedi's sword. They knew the Senate, the Senators, the endless levels of machinery governing the Republican Alliance. They knew every trade dispute, every dirty deal and secret, and the time had come to use that knowledge, when and where it became necessary. The long years of hiding were finally over.

Obi-Wan marched between his guards, his head covered by his hood, hands buried deep in his robe. His lips tightened against the pain in his side, but he refused to consider asking them to slow down. Ranac had almost believed him, enough to take him down to the Temple under guard in search of Qui-Gon. The leader of the reinforcements still wondered at the voice that had so perfectly imitated their leader, couched in the slim body of a youth whose beard was still an auburn drift of down framing lips still childishly rosy. Obi-Wan's quiet dignity was certainly impressive and Ranac had known that Qui-Gon possessed a Padawan. Still suspicious, it was only when Obi-Wan showed him the emancipation scroll with Qui-Gon's signature and lowered his shields had the young officer sent him back to the planet with an armed guard.

Obi-Wan paused outside the Infirmary doors and was eyed by his watchers cautiously as he took a long breath and bit his lip, hidden beneath his hood. He could feel Qui-Gon's presence but it was dim and dampened. He pushed his chin out and the doors whooshed open for him.

Maera met him at the threshold. She raised an eyebrow at the guards.

"Wha' the hell are you lot playin' at? Got nothin' better t'do?"

They all knew better than to answer her back when she used that tone.

"Obi-Wan, I can just imagine where ya've been. Go on. He's na awake yet."

Qui-Gon lay on the narrow bed, pale and still. To Obi-Wan's eyes, he seemed the sarcophagus of a great, ancient king, a frozen effigy of quiescent power. His face was a carved mask. One eye was covered with a patch of bacta, a faintly pink scar streaking along one cheek down to his chin. His hands lay limp across his chest and Obi-Wan lifted one to his face, feeling the calloused broad fingertips against his lips, his eyes blurring.

"Oh, Master..."

Somehow, he managed to curl himself half-on and half beside the tall, motionless body. His head resting in the hollow of Qui-Gon's shoulder, he clasped the still hand against his cheek and lay there, silent and staring at nothing.

Maera peeked into the room, turned back and gestured to her aide to roll in the second bed. She didn't want to move Obi-Wan yet. Hours before, her aide had tried to pry the boy away from Qui-Gon and received a violent elbow in the ribs for his trouble.

"Poor laddie. He's exhausted." she murmured to herself, reaching out a hand to touch her brother's forehead. Qui-Gon was still deeply unconscious, but it was a healing sleep, one she could sense he shared with his Padawan. She knew Obi-Wan had a few cracked ribs, but they weren't too serious and could wait until he woke naturally. She had no desire to be Force-shoved through the window by rousing him too abruptly. She raised her head, suddenly aware of another presence.

Mace laughed softly from the doorway. "You know, you look exactly like Qui-Gon when you do that. Like a wolf sniffing the wind."

Maera shot him a mutinous look. "Runs i'th' family."

She went into the hallway and collapsed into a chair. "Mace, wha' the hell is happenin'? An' wha' did that lunatic child do out there?"

Mace pulled up a stool and sighed into it gratefully. "The negotiators and Kal's group have called an emergency meeting of the Senate. It'll probably go on for days." He grinned at her, teeth flashing against his dark skin. "From what I can tell, that child is no child at all!! He must have gotten the coordinates eavesdropping on me. Then he got to Syrene somehow---I don't even want to guess---went out there and blasted a big hole in the Republican Fleet. After that, I don't know. Ranac says that Syrene's spire was activated wide-range." He shuddered. "Virtual suicide. Then, pouf, nothing. I felt it, though. It was Qui-Gon."

Maera nodded. "I know. I think he knew wha' was goin' on. Tha' he tapped all of us for the energy. He must've redirected the spire-beam, but tha's impossible. No one could do tha'."

"Don't underestimate him. Or them. Was he conscious?"

She shook her dark head. "I was pulled into his mind an' I saw them both, together. Then it stopped. He's been like tha' ever since."

Mace looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at her. "Will he be all right?"

Her blue eyes were tired, dark circles around them making them too big in her small, worn face. "I don't know. I think so. The lad's got a few cracked ribs. Seems he did a perfect imitation of 'Gon to Ranac o'er the comlink." She snorted with laughter. "I'd say he's a quick study, aye?"

Mace grinned. "Oh yes! I'd say he is. And certainly not the little pampered plaything. Ranac's field officers said he was darting around the Fleet blasting like a madman." He stretched out his legs and arched to crack his back. "I'll be glad of a rest after all this!"

Maera glared at him. "Rest? Ya think there'll be any rest for you lot now? You've a bloody galaxy to govern an' a Temple to run. You can rest when yer dead!"

Mace stood up and yawned. "True, but I could use a bit of sleep first. What about those two?"

Maera shrugged. "We wait. "

Obi-Wan dreamed. He was clinging to the spire atop Syrene as she floated in a storm-tossed sea. Then he wasn't clinging, he was bound to it and he struggled, screaming uselessly against the roar of the waves. The spray stung his face and he pulled against unseen bonds as the deck rocked violently and the darkness grew and grew around him.

"Obi-Wan." The low voice cut through the wind and the rain.

"Obi-Wan, can ya hear me?" Qui-Gon's voice, warm in his ear and clear as a bell.

"Yes!! YES!!" he was screaming against the the storm, his words caught and spat into the gusts that sent the little ship into flight on the smoke-grey clouds.

"Qui-Gon!! QUI-GON!! MASTER!!" He was sliding up the spire towards the crystal, glowing above his head at a crazy angle, closer and closer until it engulfed him completely and he disappeared into blue-white fire.

Qui-Gon's eyes smiled down into his, their blue depths softer than he'd ever seen them.

"Are you all right now, little one?"

Obi-Wan felt his chin jerk up despite the warmth of being enveloped in his Master's arms.

"I'm not little."

Qui-Gon laughed and lifted his face. "Ya'll always be little t'me."

Obi-Wan's arms crept around his neck. "Wretch."

"Brat." Qui-Gon murmured against his ear. "We've got t'go back. To them."

Obi-Wan shifted closer, twining around Qui-Gon like a vine. "I know. I wish..."

"What do ya wish, my love?"

"What did you call me?" The grey-green eyes were wide.

Qui-Gon smiled down at him. "My love. You are, ya know." Obi-Wan pulled the long hair to meet his Master's lips.

"But will you say that when we're awake? I wonder...."

Qui-Gon opened his one good eye experimentally and blinked like an monocular owl at the light. He groaned softly and dragged himself up to sit against the pillows.

"Well, well. Sleepin' Beastie returns!!" He didn't need to turn to know it was his sister.

"Where is he?"

"I'm right here." Obi-Wan was next to him in a moment, smiling down at him.

Qui-Gon raised a hand to touch the red-down cheek. "Look at ye!!" he murmured in wonder. "When did tha' happen?"

Maera poked another pillow behind him. "It's usual, ya know. Happens over a few days."

He glared at her.

She grinned back at him. "Ya look marvellous. I should get ya one o' those tropical birds t'sit on yer shoulder."

She fled as the pillow hit the wall and Obi-Wan dissolved into laughter.

"Master?"

"Uggnnnnnnnggggh." Qui-Gon stretched hugely, then touched the patch over his right eye gingerly. "I hope tha'll come off soon."

Obi-Wan regarded him critically. "I don't know. I rather like it. It's very...rakish."

"Brat!"

The young man pushed against Qui-Gon gently. "Move over." He sat beside the tall Remwaran, watching him with a slight smile.

"Well, what now, Master? Don't you have an ending to this story?"

Qui-Gon grimaced. "Aye. They spent years and years tryin' to figure out what in hell they'd done and died overworked, underpaid, and unappreciated."

Obi-Wan laughed softly. "Yes, it will be a lot of work, won't it? Why didn't you tell me, you fool! It would have been so much easier." He waved any answer away. "It doesn't matter. The whole Republic to reorganise. The Temple to reclaim."

Qui-Gon rolled over, wrapping himself in his robe and got to his feet. "Ah, that feels better. Can't stand layin' about like tha'."

For a long moment, they stood side by side looking out over the cityscape, its lines of traffic twinkling in the sunlight.

"Tha' was a brave thing ya did, Obi-Wan. Daft, but brave."

Obi-Wan looked down at his clasped hands and smiled, tucking them into his sleeves.

"Thank you, Master. I believe I had help from some delirious lunatic who kept poking ideas in my head."

"Ah, well, ya know, you shouldn't pay too much attention to the semi-conscious. They're na always competent."

Obi-Wan's lips tightened and his shoulders began to shake. He turned and threw himself into Qui-Gon's arms.

"Oh Master!" He didn't have any other words and just clung desperate fingers. // I thought I'd lost you. Then I knew what you wanted. I...I don't know. I just wanted....//.

He looked up at the scarred, hawkish face with its single blue beacon warming into him. "I love you."

The bright eye softened, then closed briefly.

Obi-Wan crested his head against the big hand that slid around to brush the soft fuzz of his hair.

"Do ya miss it, love?"

"What? Oh, that." he shrugged. "I suppose it'll grow back. I miss my braid. "

Qui-Gon pulled him closer, cupping his face. "Why? Why on earth would ya miss that?"

"Because it meant I was yours."

"Ya're not anymore, Obi-Wan. Ya're free."

Obi-Wan smiled softly. "Free? Free of what? Ownership or love?"

Qui-Gon bent and kissed him. The kiss deepened, the youth's arms locked around his neck, then, suddenly, he felt the involuntary stiffness of the slender body. "It's all right, love. There's na hurry f' any o'that."

Obi-Wan nestled against him. "I'm sorry. I don't know why that...."

"Shhhhh...it'll take time. It'll all take time."

Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing his cheek against the ruddy head. Time...perhaps an enemy, as always. He could only hope there was plenty of it. There was so much to do, so much work, so much change. So much love to share with the young man beside him whose journey was just beginning in a world of beginnings. He smiled out at the dazzling traffic. A thousand years ago, he remembered, there had been another Obi-Wan. The story was that he had been the last of the Jedi before the New Jedi Order: the omega before the Empire, before the millenium of hide-and-seek with evil that had brought down the New Republic; its fall, orchestrated, he now knew, by the same evil that created the Empire. It had lain in wait, silent and deadly, biding its time until it created the Mariginata Wars and destroyed the Jedi. It had been clever, playing its cards so deftly that no one had known it was the same evil. It had manipulated and plotted and ruled from beside and beneath. All things end. And this Obi-Wan was the alpha, the first of a new Jedi, an order waiting to be reborn from the twin remains of the old. The social toys and the barbarian warlords would come together to forge, once more, the great order, the dream of another ten thousand years. He was its nativity, its first bright flame.

Qui-Gon tightened his grip around the strong, slender shoulders. His hardest trials were now ahead: the trials of the mind. All the bloodshed and pain of his life had led him to this moment, to this task. He hoped he would be up to the change and the challenge.

Obi-Wan turned in his arms, the late afternoon sunlight sculpting his face with fire.

"Well, it's a far cry from blackmail and raiders, isn't it? Quite a change, isn't it, Pirate?"

Qui-Gon grinned. "Aye, and a change for you, Padawan! Ya game?"

Obi-Wan buried his face against his Master's shoulder. "Just keep holding me and we'll be all right."

The red sun gleamed in the silver of Qui-Gon's beard, in the flame-touched bristles of Obi-Wan's hair, bathing both faces in glorious light, ending one day and beginning a new one. Somewhere, on a fog-shrouded shore there was a tree whispering in a late winter breeze, sending shivers across the midnight lake waters that echoed with the laughter of a youth, mirrored the taut lines of growing limbs, licked at the stones that paved a road long-imagined and hard-won. The wind sighed across the water, waiting for the dawn when the youth would return a man, standing shoulder to shoulder with he whose strength was forged in the hills. The first full moon that heralded spring danced on the ripples in anticipation.

FIN


End file.
